The Red Dragon
by stormus
Summary: Camelot is abuzz with excitement. The time is finally at hand for the peace talks towards the unification of Albion to begin. Gwen must play her part as the regal ruler, and Merlin is run off his feet ensuring that everything goes smoothly. But with so many former enemies gathered together in close quarters, how much of his old suspicion is justifiable, and how much is paranoia?
1. Chapter I

The Red Dragon

_(Book one)_

Chapter I

ͼ ~ ͽ ~ ͼ ~ ҉҈҉ ~ ͽ ~ ͼ ~ ͽ

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**Summary:** Camelot is abuzz with excitement. The time is finally at hand for the peace talks towards the unification of Albion to begin. Gwen must play her part as the regal ruler, and Merlin is run off his feet ensuring that everything goes smoothly. But with so many former enemies gathered together in close quarters, how much of his old suspicion is justifiable, and how much is paranoia? Will Albion come to pass and the next part of his destiny be fulfilled? Or are there those who conspire against the golden age of prosperity foreseen since ancient times?

**Rated:** T

**Characters:** Merlin, Guinevere, Gaius, Leon, Percival, George, a whole host of knights, occasionally familiar tournament competitors and assorted Albion royalty.

**Note:** The first of three stories. Detailing the unification of Albion, and life after Arthur. There's a short prequel uploaded - Forbrecan ond gestrician - if you're wondering about the space of time before Merlin's return to Camelot :) I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

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"Rise and shine!"

Light flooded the room, almost blinding in its intensity. With a demure groan, mind still fuzzy from the weight of sleep, Queen Guinevere screwed her already closed eyes tighter so against the morning sunlight, and turned her face into the pillow.

A shiver ran through her, brought on by a sudden blast of cool air. She drew her legs up under the heavy bedspread, and groaned again, this time more loudly and pointedly as she pulled her pillow to her face as though to smother herself. If it would bring more blessed sleep...

There was a loud creak as the wardrobe doors were roughly pulled open. She tried to ignore it, she really did. All she wanted was five more minutes.

It had been the small hours before she dismissed the council and retired to bed. There was so much to plan for, and getting everyone to agree was like fighting a protracted war single-handedly.

Something hefty landed on the end of her bed with a dull _whump_, two sharper _clomps_ on the floor beneath following closely.

Awareness was here now, refusing to let sleep reclaim her. It brought with it the suddenly glaringly obvious realisation that something was not right with this morning's wake-up call.

She cracked her eyes, and blinked against the glare of early morning sunlight reflecting from the open window.

"Shake a leg!"

Gwen breathed a loud sigh, and pushed her braid back over her shoulder. She propped herself up against the pillows in her warm, comfortable bed, and observed the young man standing at the wardrobe at the foot of her bed, currently turning to and fro, his familiar face set in critical consideration of the ornate gown he held up against himself.

"Merlin. What are you doing?"

He looked up quickly, cocking his head at her over the neckline of the gown with an innocence that made her smile. "Waking you up."

"Why?"

"Because somebody has to encourage you to _greet the day!_"

"Where's Luned?"

Merlin hesitated to answer, a sheepish grin plastered on his face as he folded the gown over his arm and tossed it untidily back into the wardrobe. "I gave her the morning off."

Gwen tilted her head, and raised both eyebrows. Seeing the expression on her face, Merlin shrugged lightly and clasped his hands behind his back.

"She looked as though she needed it." He jerked into movement suddenly, swinging his arms by his sides as he made for the table and began serving the grapes and bread onto a plate. "And I should know. You Pendragons work your servants _far_ too hard. It's disgusting."

Gwen huffed deeply. "Merlin-"

"Gwen-" he interrupted her hurriedly, "it's easy to fall into that trap. Having everything done for you. Being waited on hand and foot. You could end up like -"

"Merlin-"

"So Luned taking some time off is the best thing for everyone. She looked happy about it, or it could have been confusion. Didn't really think to find out-"

"Merlin-"

"Maybe you should do the same for everyone else. After all of this is over, the whole of downstairs is run ragged-"

"Merlin!"

He fell silent, reflexively clasping his hands behind his back once again at the intonation. Gwen watched him, feeling a sympathetic smile on her lips. She lowered her eyes to the floor at his feet, unable to meet his as she said "you're missing him, aren't you?"

Merlin said nothing. He merely swallowed, and lowered his own eyes to the floor.

He didn't need to say it. She didn't need to say aloud that she missed Arthur either. They both knew.

It had been more than a year since Camlann, but the pain was still raw. The first few months following the battle, she had felt lost. The knights had sworn their loyalty to her, and the people had followed wholeheartedly. They had all watched and waited with bated breath for her first actions as Camelot's solo ruler. Knowing that a whole Kingdom was watching her, and depending on her to rule and guide them through their period of mourning had been so, so intimidating. Arthur had died so young, so unexpectedly... She could still see them all, the lights of thousands of candles flickering in the courtyard and the streets of the town beyond as the people of Camelot held a vigil for their fallen king.

The memory still threatened to break her. When she had received word from Percival that Arthur really was gone, the dam had broken. If it had not been for him, for Gaius and Leon, she did not know how she would have continued on in herself, let alone stepped up and taken her role as queen, ready to rule alone.

Then, when the days became weeks, and the weeks became months; when she realised that Merlin was not coming back...

She breathed a light sigh, filled with both sorrow and relief as she set eyes on her dear, dear friend. He was here now. It had taken a year, but he had returned to Camelot, and a lot had happened. A lot had changed. And here he was, standing in her chambers, doing the work of her absent servant. Because he missed Arthur as well.

She smiled fondly, and shook her head. He was standing there, in that red coat he had been given to wear at her wedding, and of course his beloved neckerchief, hands behind his back, eyes averted to the ground. He had been offered the finest clothing to go with his new position, but had refused and insisted that the coat was fine and all he needed. Standing there because he missed Arthur and missed his old routine.

Gwen shook her head. "Hand me my robe, would you?"

Merlin did as she asked, helping her on with it and waiting while she crossed to the table and sat down.

"You know," she began, reaching for her plate, "people will talk. The queen and her court sorcerer, alooone in the royal chambers."

Merlin snorted and flumped down in the chair opposite her. "They'd probably think I enchanted you."

Gwen nodded, holding back a chuckle. "Enchantment or no, I've seen you as an old woman, Merlin. That's enough to overpower any spell.

With a smirk, Merlin drew himself up in his chair and waved a dismissive hand towards her. "Well!" He tossed his head, speaking in his Dolma voice, "I am offended, my Lady. I really am!"

"Stop that."

The sight of his cheeky grin was heartening. He had been so sombre since returning to Camelot. To see even a semblance of the old Merlin lifted Gwen's spirits some.

Absently, she picked at a grape on her plate, sending it rolling around the perimeter. Her spirits needing lifting. So much weighed on her mind at present that it sometimes felt as though she was being crushed. Even with the sleeping draughts Gaius provided her, she found it hard to relax.

Especially knowing that today was coming.

Her expression must have turned down. She had stopped harrying her grape about.

"Gwen?" Merlin ventured tentatively. "Are you alright?"

She snapped out of it, straightening in her chair to fold her hands in her lap and clear her throat lightly. "I'm fine, Merlin."

He was clearly unconvinced, and cocked an eyebrow at her. She responded by flicking a grape at him.

If she had been able to see herself, she knew that she should be shocked. Throwing food was hardly lady-like for any lady of any station, but one could not be married to Arthur for three years without picking up one or two of his less regal behaviours. Namely flicking food at his manservant.

The grape soared in an arc across the table, only to halt just short of Merlin's forehead and remain suspended there. Without preamble he picked it out of the air and tossed it in his mouth. "It'll all be fine." He told her between chews. "Nobody in Camelot doubts you. The knights and the people give you their full support."

"It's not them I'm worried about."

Merlin only hesitated a moment before continuing on as though she hadn't spoken. "A few days sitting through a tournament won't hurt too much. Granted it's boring, but you'll survive."

"What about you?" She asked with a small smile. "Will you survive it with nothing to do?"

He knew what she meant by that. Yes, he had suffered through an awful lot of tournaments in the past ten years, but he had always had tasks to complete; armour to clean, weapons to fetch, horses to water, and an Arthur to feed... people's lives to save without them realising it. He had generally kept busy. This was his first time sitting through one as a spectator. Needless to say he had been moaning about it all week.

In fact he had been so moved by the prospect that he had spent an evening bewailing his fate in the tavern. In the end Percival had presented him with a mace and suggested that he take part if watching was so painful. According to Leon, Merlin had grinned, and concluded that spectating didn't sound so bad after all. That was probably a good thing, really. He _did_ have an unfair advantage.

Apparently not having noticed her amusement, he shrugged and answered in a somewhat despondent tone, "I suppose it won't be so bad. I'll do what all the other courtiers do: '_ooh'_ and _'ahh'_ when I'm supposed to, clap in all the right places. I can pretend to enjoy it. I'm good at pretending – ah," he winced, aware of how that sounded.

Gwen was clearly aware of it too, but chose not to interpret it as anything to do with the past ten years. "I'm glad. You'll have to give me some lessons. It won't do for me to stare off into space when I'm supposed to look entertained."

"Arthur did that a lot."

She swallowed against the pang of sadness she felt at her husband's name and smiled past it. "Arthur could get away with it."

Merlin did not say anything to that, instead fighting back a smile.

Her plate cleared, Gwen pushed it away, furrowing her brow at Merlin as he reflexively reached to clear it away. "You had better go and find Luned."

He looked at her with a questioning expression. There was something else there, though. Something else in it. She knew that look. It was his 'ready to serve' look, with a hint of incomprehension thrown in for good measure. He didn't need to speak. She understood perfectly.

'_Why? I'm just as good a servant as her._'

She shrugged lightly, attempting to gesture to herself without actually doing so. Merlin didn't understand. He just stared at her blankly. She tried again, shrugging a little harder this time.

He pursed his lips, and shook his head back and forth slowly.

Gwen cleared her throat demurely. Merlin pressed his lips together, still missing her point.

With a good-natured huff, Guinevere did gesture to the length of herself then, more specifically her nightgown.

Understanding dawned. Merlin gave something of an uncomfortable 'ah', and rose from his chair, hastening towards the door.

"I'll just... go get Luned."

Gwen inclined her head, trying to contain her giggles. "See you later."

He paused halfway out the door and nodded. "Later."

"And Merlin?"

His head reappeared around the door. Gwen smiled. "Thank you for breakfast."

With one of those wide, lop-sided grins of his, he disappeared, the door closing behind him.

Shaking her head fondly, Gwen rose from the table and made her way back towards her bed, and the dress that Merlin had flung there earlier.

She couldn't blame him for wanting the security of his old routine. It had taken some time before she stopped dusting hers and Arthur's chambers, and scrubbing the floors after she married. Arthur's gentle prodding had eventually weaned her off housework, though she had never stopped folding things. Maybe because Merlin was the enemy of all things proper in the name of folding, but she had always found some comfort in it.

Automatically she bent and placed her boots together beside her bed. It was pleasing on some level to see things done properly. Not everybody shared her need to do a job well. Certainly not Merlin. He was happy to hurl her boots in the general direction of the bed and leave them feet apart from one another where they fell. That was fine. She didn't mind cleaning up after his efforts. Something about that made her smile.

The queen clearing up after her court sorcerer. In what other Kingdom?

She glanced towards the window, beautiful, bright sunlight streaming through the open air and latticed panes. Silently, she moved to the sill, nails clicking quietly against the stone as she took up a lean and gazed out over the courtyard below.

People were hard at work; hanging the streamers, and banners of many different Kingdoms from the walls. Servants bustled to and fro, baskets of fruit, vegetables and bread for the evening's feast in their arms. Others carried linens, while young squires ferried their masters' armour to where it be needed.

Descending the steps from the castle, his cloak a flurry of red behind him, Sir Leon made his way across the cobbles towards the drawbridge.

It was as Merlin had said: preparations were well advanced. Her people worked hard to make ready. She must make ready also.

Gwen turned from the window, and the warm light of the spring morning and returned to her bed where her gown waited. On the table beside her bed, resting on a velvet cushion was her coronet. It shone in the early sunlight, polished beyond anything a normal hand could achieve. It had not been quite so lustrous when she went to bed. She would have to thank Merlin later.

The sight of it stilled her. There it sat, in all the glory befitting a queen of Camelot. She drew herself up a little and raised her chin. It meant more than that today, she understood. It's glow in the sunlight of a new day, finished by the magic of the most powerful warlock to ever live - it was more than a symbol of state. More than the coronet of Camelot's queen. Today it would see the beginning of a new age. Today, and in the days that followed, it would witness the birth of Albion.

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The sounds in the stables were gentle. Soft. The light breaths of horses at rest. Camelot's great and strong war horses, placid and calm in their stalls, lazy in the light of morning. The sound of horses chewing had always been calming.

There had been a good few horses in his village. Their presence had always been pacifying. Horses were needed to pull the huge logs from the forests to the village workshops. A task that required the assistance of strong men as well as patient beasts. To hear them nearby... If he closed his eyes, he could picture his home as it had been.

Percival opened his eyes, finding himself in the warmth and earth of Camelot's stables once more. He knew that holding a memory would help it live, but he also understood that he could not live in a memory. He ran a hand over the sleek neck of the black charger whose stall he shared, stroking the placid animal's ears. It turned it's fine head to him, resting its muzzle against his arm.

Percival regarded it sadly, and placed his palm against its forehead, caressing its soft hair lightly. Its muzzle dipped, eyes drifting closed. To hold onto a memory was to keep it alive, but one could not live in it, nor restore it to reality. Percival knew that, for all the comfort it brought him.

"Percival?"

The soft swish of straw underfoot indicated Sir Leon's entry to the stables. Percival looked up and greeted his friend with a nod.

Leon moved to speak, halted by the sight of Percival and the black horse. He lowered his eyes to the ground and coughed, hiding his own sorrow as best he could with the action.

Percival returned his attention to the horse, stroking a hand along its neck to pat its withers, causing its head to jerk up at the action. "He's tired." The big knight murmured, partially to Leon, partially to the air around him. He stroked the black stallion's muzzle, sending it off to sleep once more. "There's been no work for him to do for a year. He's tired of being bored."

Leon looked up, watching Percival and the horse quietly. He understood. So did the other knights. Nobody had sat astride this horse in a year, because it was not theirs to do so. The thought saddened him in more ways than one. Every knight had a horse, but this horse did not have a knight. Gringolet stood idle while the other chargers ferried their riders through patrols, battles and tournaments. He had carried no one since Percival led him back from the forests without his rider.

To see the fiery creature so subdued, it was almost as if Gringolet knew that he was without his master. Though, of course, horses could not reason such things.

"Perhaps he'll find work during the tournament?"

Percival shook his head. "The competitors will have mounts of their own. Besides-" He met Leon's eyes, something of a tiny smile twitching at his lips, "Gwaine always said he was rubbish at jousting."

Leon allowed himself a smile, and swept a hand back through his hair. "As was Gwaine, so he was one to talk."

"He'd lamp you if he heard you say that."

As true as that was, Leon didn't want to acknowledge it particularly. He well knew that getting hit by Gwaine more often than not involved going down like a sack of rocks, and much cursing from both sides. The man had possessed a practiced right hook. Just the thought of one of Gwaine's punches made his jaw ache. So instead he turned his attention to the reason he had come seeking Percival. "The queen will be down soon. We ought to be there to greet her."

Percival nodded and straightened from his lean against the stable wall. He patted Gringolet's neck fondly, and left the sleepy war horse to his hay. "She'll need support today."

Together they made their way from the stables back to the citadel. Camelot had waited for this day. Now that it had finally arrived, no matter the outcome, nothing would ever be the same again.

Once more, through anticipation of events to come, Percival's heart felt heavy, weighted down by the many memories he held: of lost friends unable to see this day, and the burden of helping them live on through memory.

He fought to hold his shoulders back, and his head high. Many had died so that this day could come. All that would happen now, would be in their honour.

In honour of Lancelot, and in honour of Elyan. Of Arthur, and... Gwaine. To the honour of those he did not know, who had given their lives for Camelot's peace. Today was a new beginning owed to them all, and he would honour it, as he honoured their living memories.

* * *

His chambers had rarely been a state that could be regarded as tidy, but for some years now they had adopted a quality of disarray as often seen in the wake of a particularly vicious hurricane. Gaius largely equated that to his no longer living alone. It seemed that no matter how much he tidied and organised, his ward would sweep through like a whirlwind and throw everything into disorder again. In all honesty the transformation left him dizzy and utterly bewildered. Even the leeches had seemed confused of late, and he put that down to his own cause of near constant disorientation.

Surveying the latest destruction of his bookshelves with a disbelieving expression and his hands on his hips, Gaius almost threw his hands in the air and demanded aloud what the point was. What had it been this time? Merlin waking with a slight twinge in his lower back and a sudden flight of panic, that it _could_ be nothing as Gaius suggested; that it _could_ just have been his sleeping in an awkward position, or it _could_ be a _number_ of _infinitely_ more _sinister_ things. Like his magic warning him of impending assault by Sidhe, or a flock of griffins, or mad witches bent on Camelot's destruction, or a spell that failed to take a hold designed to incapacitate Gwen's most powerful protector.

Gaius had raised an eyebrow at that last one. Merlin didn't mean to blow his own trumpet – and to be fair, he would have to go a _long _way to do so – but after charging down the stairs from his room in the early hours of the morning and proceeding to crash about in the bookcase, he had not found the physician in the most charitable of moods.

Even now Gaius found himself in two minds on the whole thing. He did understand. Merlin was feeling the pressure.

Since returning to Camelot Merlin had been jumpy, and slightly paranoid. After all that had happened, Gaius really did understand.

He could see it in his ward's behaviour to be sure, but also in the subtle choices Merlin made: the places he went, the things he took with him when he went to them. The fact that, despite his now being sorcerer to the court of Camelot he still lived in the tiny room at the back of Gaius' chambers. He had turned down the self-contained, grand chambers Gwen had offered him, electing to stay close to his mentor. Gaius appreciated that, as he quietly appreciated Merlin's decision to remain in his old room. After so long without him, it was good to have Merlin back where he belonged.

Merlin feared change. He avoided it where possible, and had become terrified of losing any more of his loved ones.

Now, with the day of Albion dawning, it almost felt as though all the mood swings and slamming doors, and midnight potion brewing sessions had been worth it. Gaius felt elated. All his life he had been waiting for this day – for the time the poets spoke of – and now...

His hands fell from his hips and he turned at the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door.

As he anticipated Merlin burst in, looking somewhat dishevelled and harassed, barely acknowledging him on his way across the chambers to his room.

Gaius watched him pass, unsurprised at the loud clatter at the top of the stairs as Merlin tripped over the various pieces of armour lying strewn about the place. Yes, Gaius had seen him sneak up there with it all the previous night. As much as Merlin had complained about it in the past, he did seem to find cleaning armour therapeutic as mindless tasks so often were. Sir Bors had apparently been heard remarking to Percival that his armour was cleaner than it had ever been, and that whoever was responsible ought to receive thanks.

Gaius couldn't help but smile a little. If only Bors knew. If only any of them knew.

"Gaius! Have you seen my list?!"

Oh! He wanted his _list_? "I haven't, I'm afraid - And is it any wonder, the state of things up there?"

"Haven't had time to sort it out." Came the somewhat muffled reply. Must have his head under the bed.

"Now I hardly think that's true!"

That went without a reply. A sure sign of the truth having been uncovered.

"... I really need my list!"

Gaius turned away from his ravaged bookshelves and hazarded a glance up the steps to the open door beyond. Quite what was going on up there, it could only be serving to worsen the situation. Various objects flew past the open door - a boot, some sprigs of herbs, a neckerchief, a cursed wooden box, a cracked vase (very soon to be broken) and its wilted contents, the Sidhe staff, a nightshirt.

The physician felt a fresh wave of despair, but forced it down as a trivial thing in the face of all that was going to happen in the next few days. "Where did you have it last?"

"If I knew that, I'd know where it is! What kind of question is that?" There was a pause in the crashes and flying items, Merlin's shoulder just visible at the edge of the door as he sat back on his feet. "Would be today I can't find it, wouldn't it? _Oh, what's that, Mer-lin? The most important day in Albion's history? You need your list? The one that tells you exactly where you need to be, and everything you need to do? No, no. Today it's going to go missing and you can waste all your precious time looking for it. Ha. Ha. Ha!"_

His shoulder vanished and the crashing resumed – a solitary sock, some of Kilgarrah's scales, a notebook, something that may have once been an apple, his leather bracelet he had been looking for the other day...

Gaius frowned, daring to venture a step closer to the whirling frenzy of detritus; didn't even flinch when a gauntlet came rolling down the stairs. "Merlin-"

Something apparently fell over, probably landing on Merlin judging by the pained '_ow_' that followed. Gaius tried again. "Merlin, I really think you're taking this whole thing a little too seriously."

The activity stopped. Merlin appeared around the door, leaning there to stare back at Gaius as though he had gone insane. "Too seriously? This is only the pinnacle of my 'oh so important' destiny happening right here, right now, today. The thing that has been thrown at me and rubbed in my face constantly for the past ten years, and will affect the future of every Kingdom and everyone I know, and is the whole purpose of me and and everything I am. So maybe I can be forgiven for taking it 'a little _too_ seriously', yes?" And he was gone again, clattering about with what sounded like renewed ferocity.

Gaius wanted to sigh. Instead he braved the storm and hitched up the hem of his robes to ascend the stairs to its eye.

The place really was a mess. A scene of total destruction. It hadn't been much better before the frenzied searching, but there was no way anyone could find anything in this. A glance at Merlin revealed him to be halfway into his cupboard tossing various items out. That wasn't the way to go about this. If they were to have any success, this had to be approached logically and calmly. So Gaius began straightening the items Merlin had displaced.

"Do you really have no idea where you saw it last?" He asked, one last attempt at sound reasoning.

"No." Came the huffed reply.

"But you only had it last night. It was all that I could do to stop you pouring over it at the dinner table."

"The way my head is right now, I can't remember back that far!"

So no joy there, then? Resigned, Gaius turned to the bed and began making it. He had just folded the quilt back up to the pillow when he huffed, and shook his head. "Merlin."

"What, Gaius!?" Merlin pulled his head out of the cupboard and rounded on his mentor.

Without a hint of emotion, Gaius held out a rolled up scroll of parchment.

At the sight of it, Merlin grinned sheepishly, and reached out his hand to take it. "Ah."

"Ah, indeed."

"Thanks."

Gaius handed it over with a slightly raised eyebrow, watching as Merlin's nimble fingers hastily unrolled it.

The thing really was comprehensive. Every possible task and eventuality had been thought of and planned for and around. A good few things had been addressed directly with annotations along the lines of '_I don't know – sort it out with magic' _and _'Why did I decide to tackle this myself?'_

Suddenly, Merlin rolled it up again and shoved it through the belt of his coat. "Right!" He turned and made to fly down the stairs as fast as his feet would carry him, only to be stayed by Gaius' voice,

"Merlin."

He looked back over his shoulder, finding Gaius to be looking back at him, his hands clasped in front of him.

The old physician fixed him with one of his serious 'looks', effectively freezing him in place. "Don't strain yourself today," Gaius told him, "I really do feel that you have taken on more than you should have with all of this." Seeing that Merlin was about to protest, he held up a hand, "I know why you have. Just know that there are others willing to help you. Don't feel that you must handle everything by yourself. Those days have passed." The 'look' fell away, replaced by a large smile.

Merlin returned it, and threw his arms around Gaius as the old man stepped forward and embraced him.

"I am so proud of you, my boy," Gaius told him, "and all you have done to bring this day about. Well done." He released Merlin and stepped back, hesitating a moment before waving him on his way. "Now go on. What are you waiting around for? Get going."

Merlin grinned, and raced away down the stairs, almost tripping over the stray gauntlet at the bottom.

Gaius watched him go, his hands folded before him inside his sleeves. He watched his boy's stumbling retreat until the door of his chambers slammed shut and all was silent.

Yes, perhaps his chambers _had_ been slightly tidier, and his bookshelves organised before Merlin's arrival, but he would not be without his ward for the world. Even if, once these talks were done with, said ward would have to clean his room from top to bottom before he was permitted to sit down to dinner.

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**Notes:** There we have it, chapter one. It's been interesting writing a slightly different Merlin - after everything he's been through it's a surprise he didn't end up more damaged in the show, I hope he turned out as interesting to read. Hopefully the next chapter will be up tomorrow. Thanks for reading! XXX


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

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Her heart was thumping in her chest. Standing at the battlements looking out over the processions passing by below, nerves jangled in her stomach. Gwen swallowed. This really was it. This really was happening. And for probably the hundredth time since sending out the messages opening the individual discussions between Camelot and each Kingdom to arrange this meeting, she felt like turning and running off into the woods. Merlin's Dragoon hut was out there. She knew where it was. She could start a new life as a charcoal maker, or eccentric woodswoman, only coming back to town to cackle and swing dead rabbits around her head before selling them and vanishing again. It would be a hard life, and she would not particularly enjoy it, but it would be easier than facing those people filing under the archway to meet her.

To stand there and be the regal, confident queen... she didn't know if she could do it. Would any of them even listen to her? They had come here, to Camelot, but would they be willing to hear her proposals? Or was it just so that they could take a look at the peasant queen, get an idea of how easy it would be to conquer the Kingdom? It should be Arthur standing here, waiting to greet them. Not her. They would have listened to Arthur. They respected him. How likely was it that they would listen to her?

A voice beside her stopped her before the self-doubt could consume her,

"It'll be fine, you know."

She released the breath she did not even realise she had been holding, and looked at Merlin where he stood at her side. He wasn't smiling, despite his reassurance. She had rarely seen him look so serious. In fact, beneath the set expression on his face, he seemed as nervous as she was. She knew him too well not to see it. Yet, there was something somehow reassuring in that.

"I hope so."

She turned back to watch the people arriving below, and knitted her fingers at her skirts. This had to be done. If universal peace was to be achieved, then these talks had to take place. Once more, though, that doubt came creeping back in. "I'm afraid -" Gwen began, aware of the crack to her voice, "I'm afraid that they will view me as a peasant, and not as the queen I am presenting myself as."

"Maybe." Merlin answered candidly. "But regardless of what they think, you are queen of Camelot. Your people, and your knights; you have nothing to prove to us, Gwen. You are our queen, and we will all follow you."

"But I have to prove myself to _them_." She waved a hand towards the steady stream of incomers passing below the wall.

Beside her, Merlin nodded. "Be yourself, Gwen. That is all you need to do." He shifted, hands clasped behind his back. "You _are_ our queen. Trust me. Everything will be alright."

Gwen couldn't help her smile. He sounded so sure. "Merlin."

He took her outstretched hand, and squeezed it gently. Together they watched the ranks of knights and servants below, each new standard borne by the heralds heading the ranks inspiring either joy or nerves.

"Nemeth." Gwen pointed out with a smile.

Among the armed guard riding below she spotted Mithian. Nemeth's new queen did not see her, focussed ahead and not above as she rode at the very centre of her knights. She was one ally Camelot could count on.

Merlin looked out over the Nemeth procession to the next. Where Mithian was all warmth and softness in her white furs, cocooned safely among her men, his eyes found the flaming hair and stern expression of Annis at the very head of her knights. Exactly as he had expected. Camelot could count on support from Caerleon, but only if what was offered was satisfactory. He trusted that it would be, but remained wary of her. Annis was a friend to the Pendragons, but she had her Kingdom's best interests at heart.

He glanced at Gwen, finding her slightly uncomfortable having laid eyes on Annis. He knew that she was a little unsure of Caerleon's queen. She feared that she may buckle in the face of such a strong woman. That did not worry him, however. Gwen tended to forget that she too was a strong woman, who would stand up for Camelot's best interests, and those of of her people.

Her expression had changed, brows furrowed into a worried frown. She bit her lip. Merlin followed her gaze out over the approaching parties. He understood her worry suddenly, noting the standard of Essetir. He too was worried about their presence at the table. Lot was known to have had his eye on Camelot. They would have to be cautious of him.

Though, he realised after a moment that it was not Lot that she looked at. He laid eyes on the source of her fear coming up just behind Bayard's contingent.

It was only a small group, consisting of two men and two women riding side by side. They bore no standard as the others of the procession did, but the men wore the red cloaks of the Knights of Camelot. The two women rode concealed beneath hooded cloaks: one fine cream velvet, the other of a rougher, coarser burgundy material, though not uncomfortable-looking, nor particularly poor.

Embroidered in silver thread across the back and shoulders of the fine cloak, was the crest of DuBois.

"Merlin, now I'm really nervous."

He looked at Gwen, finding her gnawing on her thumb in a very unqueenly fashion. "It'll be fine, Gwen."

She threw him a look of disbelief. He was very optimistic, had such faith in her abilities as a queen and her leadership. She felt even more like a peasant impersonating a queen at the sight of the tiny group passing just below her. The delegation from Arthur's lands far to the North, gained by Uther's marriage to Ygraine.

Gwen took a steadying breath. The lands currently resided in by Lady Branwen DuBois. The heir to Camelot should anything have happened to Arthur before he married. Before Amr's birth.

Arthur's first cousin.

An involuntary shudder ran through her. Of all those she would be meeting here today, it was the Lady Branwen who made her the most nervous.

"Gwen?"

Merlin was watching her with a questioning expression on his face. He knew her concerns. She had let them all out in a tirade of worry a few days previous. He turned a thoughtful eye on the small group and knitted his brows.

The four riders reached the archway and cantered through the gates beneath, cloaks billowing behind them. Maybe Lady Branwen's immediate family... Tristan, and Agravaine... Merlin tilted his head and raised both eyebrows. With her pedigree, he had already quietly resolved to keep a quiet eye out for any strange behaviour on her part. Past experience had taught him to be cautious.

Luckily Gwen did not notice. It couldn't be as horrible as she was expecting. No, it couldn't.

The queen squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head lightly. Merlin managed a one-shouldered shrug. "She's Arthur's cousin. How bad can it be?"

Gwen turned to face him, the expression on her face negating the need for words '_really, Merlin? Really?' _

He acknowledged her point. "Okay. It could be a total disaster. Easily. Just... smile and do the best you can. I'll be right there if you need me."

Gwen did smile at that. "Could you stop time, if I utterly embarrass myself?"

"No. But I can turn everyone into toads while you get yourself together. It probably wouldn't be good for relations, though."

Speaking of relations, Odin was just passing under the archway.

She held her head high, trying to regain some of what she imagined to be her 'queenly air'. "They're almost all here. We should go down."

Merlin nodded and clasped his hands behind his back once more to follow her down to the courtyard. He felt his own nerves rising.

This whole thing could be wonderful. The beginning of a new golden age for all the Kingdoms. Conversely it could be an unmitigated disaster. He just had to hope that it was in his power to see that it was the former. Between Gwen and himself, they had to make sure that it all went well, because if it didn't...

He shook his head hard. The consequences for Camelot, and for Albion could be dire.

* * *

The Knights of the round table were waiting on the castle steps when the queen and Merlin arrived in the courtyard. They had already arranged themselves in the customary 'V' shape, and waited patiently for Guinevere's arrival. Gaius waited with them, standing straighter than Gwen had ever seen him. Aileen, the royal nursemaid, stood beside him, the infant prince Amr in her arms.

Gwen halted briefly at the head of the steps to smile as her knights turned to acknowledge her in deep bows. She inclined her head in respect of them, and descended the steps.

Merlin followed, giving her enough space to descend with Luned in tow, the girl holding up the hem of her mistress' skirts. He felt so proud of Gwen at that moment. She was every inch the queen, so full of grace and compassion. Arthur could not have had a better successor, or Camelot a stronger, kinder queen.

He took up his position beside Gaius, greeting his mentor with a fond look. A firm clap on his back indicated greetings from Percival.

Merlin surveyed the people filling the courtyard before him. Representatives of each and every Kingdom, and their entourages. His eyes fell on the only group of people present without horses, all dressed in long, hooded robes and standing to the side as spectators to this historic event. Representatives of the druid clans, there to be a party to the birth of the Albion their prophecies had long foretold.

They were looking to him, as well as the queen, and inclined their heads in respect once they noted his regard. Merlin returned the acknowledgement, and turned his attention on Gwen, waiting for her to speak.

She prepared to do so, but looked first to Sir Leon at her side. Camelot's first knight smiled his encouragement, and covertly nodded for her to go ahead.

She took a breath, and set her shoulders back. Her nerves rose again at the sight of so many eyes on her; the eyes of her peers, watching her, scrutinising her. Judging her. But she took heart and drew strength from those around her. Those who loved her, and supported her, and believed in her.

She let her eyes roam across those gathered in her courtyard, her guests, and she held her head high. Somewhere, Arthur was watching. He knew that she had the strength to do this. He loved her, and believed in her and in the Kingdom she was trying to build for their people, and for their son. She could do this.

She took another breath, and began her speech.

"I bid you all welcome." She greeted her guests, twining her fingers at her skirts unconsciously. "Camelot bids you welcome, and thanks for the journeys you have undertaken to join us here, on this day. It is with the hope of peace in our hearts that we receive you. Never before has there been such a gathering in the history of our Kingdoms, and we hope that it is to be the first of many.

"For countless years the poets have spoken of Albion. It is Camelot's dearest wish that we may lay the foundations of this golden age between us here in the coming days. We honour this great occasion with a tournament, and a feast, and we invite you all to join us in celebrating what we hope to be the start of a new prosperity, and stronger peace for all of our lands."

A silence descended on the courtyard, deep, and empty. Merlin felt his stomach clench. He cast about, finding blank expressions on the faces of the visitors.

Except for Mithian. She was smiling. As were Godwyn, and Elena. However it was Annis who broke the silence.

The red-haired queen's horse shifted underneath her, its shod feet scraping loudly against the cobbles. She reigned it in, and answered Guinevere with only the trace of a smile on her face. "Caerleon will join you in your celebrations, Camelot. We came here in the hopes of strengthening our bond, and forming new alliances. We do not expect to be disappointed."

Gwen curtseyed, lowering her head in respect to the older monarch. "Thank you."

Annis gave a nod, her eyes switching to Merlin, her smile becoming slightly more visible at the solemn expression on his face. "And I see it is true. Your husband's fool has turned out to be more than he appeared. One did not expect anything particularly entertaining at our last meeting but to be surprised with such a skilful display of juggling, and what I presume now to have been magical juggling? A treat indeed."

Merlin bowed, his hands clasped tidily behind his back. "One of my many gifts, your Highness." He told her perhaps a little cheekily, a slight smile of his own on his face.

She looked suitably impressed. "So I see, court sorcerer. Will we be subject to any of your other gifts whilst we are here?"

"My Lady?"

"One with magic such as yours is not easily found, I am told. Shall we be treated to a demonstration?"

"If you would like."

Gwen felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of Merlin's magic serving as entertainment. She did not say anything on the subject, however. Merlin would have said something himself if he really minded too much.

Seeing that Annis had finished, Mithian spoke up. "Nemeth will also join you, Camelot," she said with a bright smile. "Our Kingdoms have already been joined in friendship, and will gladly stand at your side. We too desire peace, and hope to see it grow from this historic gathering."

Gwen inclined her head as she had done for Annis. "Thank you."

Merlin smiled a little despite himself. That they could count on Mithian's support had never been in question. She had been the first to extend her sympathies after Arthur's death. While Merlin had been away, she and Gwen had spent much time together, and become close friends. Nemeth was Camelot's closest and most trusted ally. Right now, Gwen was clearly glad of that friendship, and support.

Merlin averted his eyes from Mithian to fix them on the ground in the clear space between the gathered people in the courtyard and the foot of the steps. Thinking of the time he had been away always made him feel wretched. There had been a while when he had truly believed that he would not be coming back. The thought of Camelot without Arthur was just so... it had felt wrong, as though the place was no longer home.

It had taken time, but he had come to realise that there was more for him in Camelot than Arthur. Gaius was in Camelot, and Gwen. Percival and Leon were there as well. His friends and his family. Home was where your family were. They needed him, as much as he needed them.

It shamed him to realise just how long it had taken him to realise that with Arthur gone, and Gwen alone and untested, Camelot was in danger. There were many besides Morgana who desired the Kingdom. With the witch''s death, the threats against Camelot did not stop. It was not just his destiny to protect Arthur, but to help build Albion. To finish what he and Arthur had started and complete his best friend's legacy. To do that, he needed to be at Gwen's side, as he was now.

But that did not stop the guilt. For all that time he had left her undefended. For every night that Gaius had cooked his favourite meal and had it waiting. He closed his eyes, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. If Gwen hadn't lifted the ban on magic, repealed the laws against it... If Leon and Percival, and the other knights had not been there to protect her... If Gaius had not been there during her time of need...

He hadn't even know about that. The first he knew of the young prince was the day of his return, seeing the infant in Gwen's arms. Amr, Arthur's son. Camelot's honey-haired, blue-eyed prince. Currently grinning at him toothlessly, as he tended to do when Merlin was in his presence. It was his ears, apparently. Amr found them hilarious.

Godwyn and Elena had voiced their intention to join the talks and celebrations, as had Olaf and Bayard. Merlin thought that it would be Odin to speak next, or perhaps Alined (who was strangely devoid of Trickler for this visit), but found himself surprised.

Lot sat astride a bay charger, his seat casual, his shoulders relaxed. He was not a particularly young man, but neither was he particularly old. His beard and hair, though still dark, were tinged with grey, and his faced lined. His frame was quite broad, and he wore armour, and a sword at his belt.

As successor to Cenred, he had not inherited the crown through familial connection, but through a vicious war from his lands far to the North East. He had seized Essetir through a mixture of bloodshed and clever planning. Merlin remembered receiving updates on the Kingdom's political state from his mother. Ealdor fell within Essetir's borders, though it was too small to be of any interest to the warring parties, even to gather supplies. He had kept a close eye on the letters Hunith sent, however, and readily shared them with Arthur to keep him abreast of the situation. Should Ealdor have needed defending, nothing would have kept Merlin in Camelot. Arthur had known that, and was probably more than ready to go with him incognito.

So as the man who ruled over Ealdor, Lot held a great deal of interest for Merlin.

When the man spoke, it was difficult not to pay attention. His voice was clear, and deep, with an air of confidence and command to it that defied any to try.

"Morcades and Essetir will join your celebrations." He all bit barked in his thick accent. "It is our view that a universal peace will hold many benefits for our Kingdoms. We will hear the proposals put forth."

Gwen again inclined her head. "Thank you. It is our desire to finally see a strengthened peace between our Kingdoms."

"Indeed."

Merlin tore his eyes away from Lot, attempting to dismiss the chill running down his spine in the wake of the man's reply. His gaze fell instead on the broad man in armour beside the king. While he was similarly armed to the rest of the Essetir knights, his manner of dress was slightly different, his leather armour slightly finer, more decorated. Just who he was escaped Merlin. A captain of the guard, or first knight perhaps? Whoever he was, he looked a formidable fighter.

Odin spoke then, drawing Merlin's attention away from Lot's man.

There was an inherent discomfort in Odin's manner. Perhaps his being in Camelot caused him discomfort? He addressed Guinevere nonetheless. "For too long there had been dissent between our Kingdoms." He told her, his voice low. "We have an uneasy peace. Perhaps this is a chance to solidify it. We will sit at your table for these three days. May they be civil, and lead to a future of prosperity for all."

"Your presence here gladdens me." Gwen replied. "For the chance to build upon our peace, I know that all of Camelot is truly grateful."

Odin nodded, something in his expression that Merlin could not quite identify. He certainly did not seem pleased to be there, but did carry a quiet respect for Gwen that could not be denied.

Alined had begun his speech, but Merlin paid little attention. Whatever else he said, Alined would not refuse to be a part of things now that everyone else had opted in officially. He would not wish to be left out of any decisions made, whatever his intentions. Some part of Merlin expected him to cause trouble, but the visible absence of Trickler made Alined seem less of a threat. He was not well thought of by his peers. Any poison he poured in their ears would be taken with a pinch of salt.

His brows knitted, Merlin made a quick scan of Odin's entourage. As expected he found a small guard, servants, and various attendants. His eyes lingered however, on a figure seated astride a grey horse beside the King.

A man for sure, but what he looked like was impossible to tell. He wore a long cloak similar in style to the spectating druids, his face hidden in the depths of his hood. Odin's court sorcerer, perhaps? None of the others present had brought any sorcerers with them. Not all had positions for sorcerers within their courts, Merlin supposed.

He shifted, aware that Gwen was talking again now that the formalities had been taken care of. He didn't pay much attention, sweeping the crowd one last time while the gathered stable boys and staff of Camelot moved froward to assist their various counterparts with the horses and baggage of their masters. Gwen must have directed her guests to rest and enjoy Camelot's hospitality before the evening's feast.

Merlin tilted his head, glancing in the direction of the druids. They had not moved, nor had they said anything. They simply remained at one side of the courtyard observing. They were not here to be a part of the talks, just as the small delegation from Camelot's Northern lands were not.

He gazed thoughtfully at the little group of two knights and two ladies currently preparing to dismount their horses. He had to say that he was curious. Both ladies had yet to remove their hoods, but... well, Arthur's cousin. Somebody neither Arthur nor Uther had ever spoken of, and somebody Morgana had not embarked on a campaign to kill. This was going to be interesting, whatever her intentions towards Gwen and Camelot.

Though the ladies remained hidden, the knights were visible as plain as day. The broader of the two, and very much the elder had to have been in his early fifties or thereabouts, and had clearly seen battle in his time. His brown hair was beginning to grey, and his face was lined. He sported a moustache that was also in the process of turning grey. Among the lines of his face was a scar, probably gained from a sword-strike, that began just below his nose and ran to his jaw, interrupting the growth of his moustache for its passage. By the looks of him he had been a knight of Camelot for a good many years.

The other knight was much younger. Not much older than Merlin, by the look of him. He was well-built, with a head of blonde hair, and sharp blue eyes. He was devoid of any visible battle scars, but one did not become a traditional knight of Camelot without accruing a small collection. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, his accompanying body language giving the idea that he was quite laid-back.

Merlin watched with measured curiousity as he suddenly swung his leg over his horse's neck to dismount, and turn to help Lady Branwen down. He reached up and she slid from her white horse into his arms. Merlin tilted his head to one side, watching the way in which the young knight so reverently lowered her to the ground, how his hands remained resting on her hips a moment too long as she gazed up into his face...

Very interesting indeed.

The elder knight helped the other woman (presumably Lady Branwen's handmaiden) down from her horse, apparently oblivious to anything unusual taking place between the other two of their group.

Merlin did not linger on them any longer. Movement to the right drew his attention.

Now that the visiting royal parties had begun to disperse, the druids had approached the steps to halt at the bottom. Iseldir lowered his hood, and bowed before Gwen. "My Lady."

Gwen smiled and held out her hands. Iseldir obliged her and climbed the steps to stand with her.

"I am glad you could come," she told him, beaming. "It would not have seemed right without your people here to witness this."

The conviction with which she said so mirrored the truth she felt in her statement. The druids had been the first members of the magical community to reach out to Camelot after the ban had been lifted. Iseldir and his clan had come to the city and offered their assistance in ensuring that the change to the laws went as smoothly as possible. They lacked the doubt which had been rife among magic users that lifting the ban was a ploy to draw in unsuspecting sorcerers as part of revenge for Arthur's death. Many family groups had left the security of their clans in the forests and settled in the Lower town. Partly in to offer their services as healers and sell their handicrafts, partly as a gesture of peace and goodwill towards the other citizens of the Kingdom. The peaceful people had proven invaluable for both Camelot's period of adjustment thus far and Gwen's piece of mind. It was Iseldir who had assured her that Merlin would return one day.

The druid chieftain squeezed her hands reassuringly, always able to sense the discomfort in others and hers was as plain as day. He turned his head to look at Merlin, and inclined it in respect. "Emrys."

Merlin returned the gesture. "Iseldir." He couldn't keep up the air of solemnity. A grin broke out across his face as he clasped hands with his old friend. "It's good to see you again."

Iseldir shook his hand readily, somewhat affectionately to those who knew him well. "And you. The cup?"

"Safe."

That pleased the druid. He released Merlin and turned back to Gwen. "If we may, my Lady, my clansmen and I would like to visit with our peoples in the Lower town."

"You need not ask my permission, Iseldir." Gwen admonished gently. "You and your people are free to come and go as you please. You are aware of that."

He gave no answer to that. With a quiet smile, he voiced his thanks, and descended the steps to join the others waiting patiently for him. He knew very well, but seemed to sustain that it was still polite to ask. Something which left Gwen quietly exasperated, but also with a knowing smile.

Merlin watched them walk away, noting that they had all lowered their hoods. Something about that made his heart feel lighter and warmer. To finally see people of magic walking the streets of Camelot without fear brought him a joy that he had at times never expected to feel.

Beside him, Gwen saw his happiness. She had come to realise since he had been home, exactly how rarely she had seen a smile of genuine joy on his face. This was one of them and she was glad of it.

Her own smile faded, her nerves growing once again at the glimpse of cream velvet swishing into her field of vision. She glanced down the steps to find Camelot's Northern delegation had approached to greet her as the druids had done. Though it was not Lady Branwen at their head, but the elder of the two knights.

He met the queen's eyes briefly, before kneeling at the foot of the steps. "My queen."

"You may rise." Gwen told him, unsure both of his name and whether or not she had overdone the queenliness. She did not want to sound arrogant. Especially not to someone of noble birth, as perverse as that seemed now that she thought of it. Old habits.

The knight did as she bade, his younger counterpart standing also, having knelt behind him. "It is good to be back in Camelot after so many years away." he declared, suppressing a wide smile. With a bow, he introduced himself. "I am Ector, and this is my son, Kay."

The younger knight bowed low, cautiously raising his eyes to meet Gwen's. "My Lady."

"You are both very welcome back." She told them, examining them both with a quietly curious eye. "The outcome of these talks affects every Kingdom, not to mention those parts of Camelot separated from us by distance. I am glad you could make it."

Ector nodded. "As am I." He moved aside, allowing the ladies to step forward. "May I introduce my ward, Lady Branwen DuBois."

Gwen shifted her nervous gaze to the slender figure in the cream cloak.

Lady Branwen lowered her hood, and curtseyed. "My Lady." She acknowledged the queen in a small voice that shook a little.

Merlin appraised her in silence, his eyebrows rising without his notice. The Lady Branwen was... not what he had been expecting. Her head of long, wavy golden hair, blue eyes, fair skin and pretty features, yes, maybe that could have been anticipated. Though, she seemed meek, almost nervous before Gwen. That he had not expected.

Some part of him had decided that the likelihood of her barging in and throwing her weight around was less a possibility than a dead certainty. She was going to flounce about the castle demanding servants meet her every whim, throwing objects and tantrums because... well... That would be more like it. She was Arthur's cousin, wasn't she? He acknowledged that every expectation he had formed of her was borne solely from that one nugget of information.

In reality, she rose from her curtsey at Gwen's behest and set her eyes nervously on the step at the queen's feet. "It is an honour to finally meet you." She almost murmured, fiddling with her fingers at her skirts. Fidgeting, even.

"As it is you." Gwen answered with a kind smile, suddenly appearing much more relaxed. "I have heard much about you." That was not strictly true. Aside from who her mother and father were, and a little information on the Northern lands in which she was born, nobody had been able to tell Gwen anything of Branwen's personality, or likes or dislikes.

Branwen did not say anything. Instead she raised her hand and began fiddling uncertainly with the clasp of her cloak.

A light frown touched Merlin. He had not been expecting this at all. Of all the crisis plans that had run through his mind in the wee hours of the mornings since learning of the Lady's arrival, none of them had taken into account the idea that she may be an absolute nervous, retiring wallflower. He had been sure of receiving, at best and ill-tempered, spoiled princess, at worst, a treacherous enemy. For a while, certainly a little more from column B.

Gaius had had little to say about her, as everyone else had. He had not even realised that she had survived infancy. That was a little disconcerting, and immediately set Merlin's internal warning bells a clanging. That, coupled with her being a DuBois did not bode well.

The little Gaius _had_ been able to tell him had not been particularly helpful. Daughter of Tristan, niece of Agravaine. Cousin of Arthur. Her mother was dead, executed by Uther for sorcery. Against the larger percentage of bad things, that last, single good thing seemed to pale in importance. There was every chance that she had an axe to grind with her pedigree-

His thoughts stilled. A deep shiver ran through him, as though the air had turned frigid. Nothing appeared to have changed. Branwen still fiddled with her cloak clasp while Ector chatted to Gwen.

Merlin shuddered, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Something was not right. Something...

His eye caught a dull glint beneath the edge of Branwen's cloak. Something around her neck. His frown deepened. He looked again.

It was a necklace: a wooden tab, bearing a painting of a dragon, and some plain wooden beads hanging from a dog-eared leather cord. It was not particularly rich-looking. More chipped around the edges of the wood, the varnish giving it its gloss spidered through with the shallow cracks of age. It certainly looked old. Very old, but the red of the dragon design itself still appeared as new. As though it had just been painted yesterday.

There was... he could not pull his eyes from it. There was something about it. The longer he looked at it...

He felt a strange sensation deep inside him, almost as though his magic was stirring in discomfort, but that was not it. He could sense in the air a power, very strong, and very old. Almost older than anything he had ever come across before. Almost as old as the Crystal Cave itself...

He narrowed his eyes, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was. It was difficult to get a handle on, but-

Branwen released her cloak, the material falling flush against her skin to cut the necklace off from view. All at once the sensation ceased.

Merlin took a breath. He felt strange. Empty. His magic, or whatever it was that had stirred inside him had stilled.

"- Kay and Branwen are to be married." Sir Ector finished, gazing fondly at the two youngsters as his son took Branwen's hand.

Gwen said something congratulatory, but it went straight over Merlin's head. All conversation, all that was happening around him seemed to pass him by as he stared off into space.

Beside him. Gaius frowned and nudged him gently with an elbow. "Are you alright, Merlin?"

"What?" Merlin steadied himself and swallowed, the back of his throat bone dry. "I..." he lowered his voice, turning slightly towards Gaius that he would not be heard by anyone but his mentor. "I'm not sure."

Gaius lowered his voice also, concerned. "What is it?"

"I don't know." Merlin cast a glance at Branwen, at her nervous expression and sweet smile. "... Something."

The exchange at the foot of the steps was coming to an end. Gwen was smiling, her hands relaxed at her sides and no longer worrying at one another where her nerves had dissipated. "I hope you enjoy the tournament." She told the Northern group. "It is a pleasure to have finally met you."

Branwen curtseyed again, still keeping her head low. "Thank you, my Lady. I am sure that we will."

It seemed to take a moment after she rose for her to realise that she could indeed leave if she wished. Even after Sir Ector ascended the steps towards Gaius, a wide smile on his face, she remained standing there looking unsure. It was odd. Merlin considered her a moment longer, aware suddenly that Gaius was moving away from his side.

The physician descended the steps to meet Ector, the two men clasping hands and smiling as they met.

"Gaius!" Ector barked jovially, laughing. "How are you?"

"Well." Gaius returned a little tiredly. "Well enough."

"Look at you. You got old!"

"It has been a long time, Ector."

"Aye, it has... it certainly has."

Gwen had begun ascending the steps, Luned following dutifully along behind her attending to her skirts. Aileen walked with the queen, holding Amr as Gwen spoke to him in soft words and coos.

At the far side of the steps, Leon and Kay were greeting one another like old friends, the former trying to draw Percival into their meeting and introduce him to the latter.

Merlin observed them a moment before turning his attention back to the Lady in the courtyard.

Branwen was walking away, following a Camelot housemaid towards the door and stairs leading up to the guest chambers. He felt another shudder run through him, though this time it felt more like anticipation than whatever it had been before.

About to turn away and follow Gwen, he halted. Down in the courtyard was Lady Branwen's handmaiden. She appeared to be struggling with a large trunk she attempted to pull from the back of a cart.

He had not paid much attention to her before, so busy with his uneasy feelings surrounding her mistress, but she too had lowered her hood. It was not exactly an unpleasant sight.

She could not have been much older than him – a little, as her mistress appeared to be. Maybe two years? Like her mistress, she too was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, though where Branwen possessed a fall of beautifully tneded, bright golden hair, hers was more a dirty blonde, about as dark as blonde could get. It was partially and very un-lovingly tied back, the most of it hanging loose and very long down her back. Her skin was not as pale as her mistress', but had that slight tan to it that indicated a lot of time spent outdoors, and a pink ruddiness that probably came from the chillier climate so far north as she had come from. Or maybe it was because she was really struggling with that trunk.

Merlin hurried down the steps, aware that whatever was about to happen, it was likely to end in a loud bang and contents strewn all over the place. A disaster that was close to happening. Very close -

"Woah there!" He found himself exclaiming, grabbing the other end of the trunk in time to soften its landing some and ensure only a minor spillage of... armour?

"Oh." The maid huffed, irritated at the spillage. She crouched and began collecting up the strewn pieces. Merlin did the same. Between the two of them they collected up the assorted bits swiftly.

"Thanks for that." The maid said suddenly, straightening with an armload of what looked to be gauntlets of varying sizes. "That could have been more embarrassing than it was, eh?"

Merlin rose to his feet also, smiling at the forthrightness of the comment. "That's alright." He followed her lead and put his pieces of armour into the trunk before holding out his hand to her. "I'm Merlin."

The maid dusted off her calloused hands and took his. "Nia. Lady Branwen's maid."

They shook hands, staring at one another briefly over the greeting.

"So." Nia took back her hand an threw a glance at the group of knights remaining on the steps. "Who're you servant to, 'en?"

"Ah. I'm not." It felt strange to actually say that out loud after so long. "I'm the court sorcerer."

"Oh!" Nia dropped her eyes to her feet and hurriedly performed a curtsey – a rather elegant curtsey, Merlin observed -"I'm sorry, my Lord. Forgive my presumption."

"It's... alright." He really hated it when people curtseyed, or bowed or called him _'my Lord'._ It made him so uncomfortable. "Really. It's fine."

To his relief, Nia straightened, though she did not meet his eyes. He continued, feeling as though he ought to clarify. "I _was_ a servant. Until the laws against magic were repealed."

She did look up then, quick recognition crossing her face. "You were the king's manservant, weren't you?"

Merlin nodded. "Yeah."

"We have heard about you up North."

"Really?" He knew that stories got around, but not that they travelled so far.

She simply nodded in reply to that, and bent to resume pulling the trunk. He reached for the opposite handle.

"Here. Let me help you with that."

"Oh no. I'll be fine, I will." She tugged at it, drawing it a little way across the cobbles with a loud scrape. "Have to build up my muscles or what good am I when they go leaving the squire at home?"

The servant grumble. That was familiar. To be fair, she _was_ moving the thing quite quickly now that it was on the ground. Even if it _was_ making one hell of a din. Not that she cared going by the nonchalant look on her face. She must lump heavy things like that around a lot.

Merlin did not ask again if she needed help. He grabbed the other end of the trunk and helped her lift it.

Between them they carried it across the courtyard and set it down just inside the door at the foot of the stairs leading up to the guest chambers.

Again Nia dusted off her hands, maybe something of a habit, and set a grateful smile on Merlin. "Thanks. Sir Kay can take it from here. He wants it up there than he can damn well shift it himself."

"Is all of this for the tournament?" Merlin queried, one eyebrow raised at her turn of phrase.

She nodded. "Mm. He's competing. He'd rather die than miss a tourney."

Merlin's other eyebrow rose to join its mate at that, but he did not say anything. Personally he would rather be eaten alive by wilderin than _not_ miss a tournament, but you couldn't have everything you wanted as he well knew. He couldn't help but recall the different-sized gauntlets. Kay would never fit into the smallest pair that had fallen out. "_All_ that armour?"

Nia brushed a strand of hair away from her face and made to head back into the courtyard. "It's his odds box, that is. He doesn't go through it. Just chucked it on the cart with the rest of the stuff." She flashed him a smile, more than a little humour behind it. "Better to be prepared for every eventuality. A tourney for warriors and sorcerers who knows what could happen with magic involved."

Merlin couldn't help but grin at that. He was about to speak when the housemaid called out on her return from the guest chambers. "Nia? Lady Branwen is asking where you are. She needs to prepare for the feast."

Nia nodded, and performed a small curtsey to Merlin before wordlessly heading off with the maid to find her mistress.

Merlin watched after them a moment, his hands behind his back. For a moment he found himself glad that he had been servant to a man. Ladies of court always needed so long to get ready for things. Also the very idea of lacing a corset made him recoil with a wince.

He turned to leave and head across the courtyard to the castle's main steps. The sight of the trunk halted him, drawing his attention briefly. 'Prepared for every eventuality'? Something about that seemed off, though Nia appeared to believe it. Not all servants were kept so well informed by their masters as he had been by Arthur. He left the trunk be and went on his way.

As he walked, his mind spun back to Branwen's necklace. That thing gave him the chills. Why, he could not be sure. There were a few things on his list that he had to attend to, but they would not take long. Maybe Gaius knew something about the necklace? When he got a second he would pick his mentor's brains. Whatever the thing was, if it was in any way a threat to Camelot, or to Gwen, he _had_ to know about it. Too much had already been lost because he had not been vigilant enough. He _would not_ make the same mistakes again.

He would not be complacent again.

He would not.

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**Note:** So I realise that today is not part of the weekend, and posting this today does not constitute tomorrow, but I spent yesterday suffering from a serious bout of _being severely rubbish_. So here's two chapters in one go as compensation. There are an awful lot of characters in this story what with all the royalty and all, and the other visitors. Such potential for havoc... There may be interesting times ahead. I'm enjoying taking creative liberties as the creators and writers of _Merlin_ oh so enjoyed doing. It's fun :) Anyway, the introductions are done and dusted, everyone's present and now the fun can begin!

As for recommended reading for today, may I suggest getting stuck into the _Mabinogion_? ;)


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III

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Many of the dignitaries had chosen to take rest in their rooms after their long journeys to reach Camelot. Their servants however, were not permitted that luxury.

Few members of the court were familiar with the lower levels of the Citadel. More than half had unlikely given any thought as to where the kitchens were, or to the fact that there was a laundry room at all. It was hot and stuffy and beneath their notice. Merlin however knew these corridors like the back of his hand. They had been his every day destination for a decade, and provided quick access to almost every area of the citadel. Servants were shadows, expected to stay silent and come and go without notice. That expectation had worked to his advantage more times than he could count over the past ten years.

Despite his familiarity with the underbelly of Camelot, and the ability to travel the castle much more quickly than others from upstairs it afforded him, he could not escape the respectful nods and curtseys passing servants who had not been familiar with him before his promotion insisted on giving him. The respect only bothered him a little today. Between the general worries concerning the talks and surrounding events, his mind kept on flipping back to that necklace.

He hadn't seen Gaius since the reception in the courtyard. The only time he had been back to their chambers, Gaius hadn't been there. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine. The thing bothered him. What was it and why did Lady Branwen have it? There was something about it, some power there if it did what it did to him. What did she want? Revenge? There was plenty to seek vengeance for, and revenge was what the other DuBois who had come calling wanted.

… Gaius would be back by the time he returned to their chambers to prepare for the feast. There would be time to pour over books and various ancient scrolls then. Probably time enough to raid the library and get up Geoffrey of Monmouth's nose also. The man was even more averse to being disturbed at present, busy documenting Arthur's life as he was. Whatever Branwen was planning – if she _was_ actually planning something – it was doubtful that she would put it into practice today. Not after her display of nervous innocence in the courtyard.

Climbing the stairs, he found himself ducking through the servant's entrance beside the main gate to the citadel.

The guards paid him no attention as he scurried past. They may as well have been statues for all the good they normally did. Not that they had any need to stop him, of course. Why they even concerned him at all just then was anyone's guess. Maybe all the stress and possibility of a new magical threat was making him paranoid?

Currently he was busy with item number ten on his list: Ensuring that everything was organised and going smoothly on the training field. This was to be an open tournament, and with the changes in the law it could make for some very entertaining matches. In the interest of fairness the tournament was split into two categories: warriors, and sorcerers. Warriors would only face warriors. Sorcerers would only face sorcerers. At the end there would be two champions. In all the whole thing promised to be pretty spectacular. As much as tournaments forced his eyes to roll and his head to devise plans of escape, Merlin found himself perhaps a little excited to see some of the magical matches. It would be interesting to watch other magic users fight uninhibited. Also it was an opportunity to scope out any potential threats to the Kingdom should any of the competitors (both magical and non) harbour a desire to destroy Camelot.

The training field itself was abuzz with excitement. Competitors were still arriving, milling about with their scrolls handy for signing and waiting to be officially welcomed. Many stood crowded around the small, shallow tent where the signing took place.

A smile twitched at the corner of Merlin's lips. Sir Bors was in charge of checking people in.

As knights went, Bors was not particularly traditional. Yes, he was a noble. Yes, he swanned about like he owned the place. Yes, he would fight to the death in defence of his queen and Kingdom, but he was also massively overconfident, very loud and overall a bit of a lout. He had been a friend of Leon's for some years, however, and had become fast friends with Percival in the past year also.

A closeness had formed among a small group of them – Bors, of course, and Sir Breunor who had joined Percival in a farewell drink to Gwaine after news of their mutual friend's death became widespread. Merlin felt a deep, painful pang at the thought of Gwaine. The charming rogue had left a gaping hole behind him. Merlin missed him almost as much as he missed Arthur. Many of the other knights missed him also. Gwaine had many friend among his brothers. Breunor had been one of them.

Chivalrous, upstanding, honourable etc. as Breunor was, he had a particular fondness for dice, and according to Gwaine, was nigh unbeatable. So as a lucky charm and a man with something of a dry sense of humour, Breunor had become Gwaine's alehouse chum. That friendship had blossomed between he and Percival as they shared memories of Gwaine over a tankard of mead.

Last but not at all least, was Sir Galahad, possibly the youngest of Camelot's knights. Merlin remembered well his initiation into the order.

Galahad was a farm boy who had saved Arthur's life while on a mission to the forest of Balor. Arthur had been drawn there by rumours of a bear-faced magical creature - "_You see, Merlin! Not so laughable after all!"_ - that had been attacking nearby villages.

Their small party had become lost in the woods near Galahad's village when they had come under attack by the beast. When it had come lumbering through the trees, roaring and foaming and snarling, Merlin had quietly promised never to laugh at Arthur's made up bestiary again. Then Bryn had gone made underneath him and tried to bolt, nearly throwing him off. Merlin had found himself preoccupied with trying to avoid being smashed into the dense population of trees hemming them all in, and in calming his gelding enough that Bryn didn't kill himself, kill Merlin, or get Arthur killed because Merlin was unable to turn around in order to help said prat.

Of course, the surprise attack had made all the other horses panic also. Of course, none of the knights could help as they were all in pretty much the same situation as Merlin, and of course, the bear-faced monster was heading straight for Arthur who couldn't defend himself while his horse went mad underneath him. At which point Arthur had managed to fall off Spumador, who went haring off through the trees at a gallop, foaming and rolling his eyes.

Merlin had been about to abandon his attempts to calm Bryn and perform the first offensive magic that sprung to mind in front of everyone when Galahad had appeared running through the trees. The boy had hefted his pitchfork in one hand and thrown it like a spear into the creature's neck.

It fell, injured, but managed to get to its feet. While he had his chance, Galahad snatched up Leon's sword from the ground where it had been dropped and slew the beast with Arthur's help.

Arthur had been most impressed, and grateful. As gratitude and reward, he took Galahad back to Camelot and the farm boy began training as a knight.

With the long walk back from Balor, Arthur had been kind enough to offer Galahad Merlin's horse, but Galahad refused politely and insisted on walking.

Merlin smiled to himself, able to pick out Galahad's light brown crop of curly-ended hair trailing Leon across the training field. Sir Galahad had a lot in common with Lancelot. The two of them had talked at length on the trip back to Camelot. They came from similar backgrounds, had similar dreams. Lancelot had taken Galahad under his wing and mentored him, taught him what was right and wrong as a knight.

After a lot of hard work and extended tutelage in all things knightly, Galahad had finally received his knighthood when he turned eighteen years old, on the same day as Mordred. With Lancelot gone, he was almost certainly Camelot's most chivalric knight. Kind and honourable to a fault, and oh so pure. Gwaine had joked once that were he any purer, he would become driven snow. He was pretty much everything a Camelot knight should be. Plus could throw a mean pitchfork. The only place he fell down was in his insistence on mucking out and giving his own horse hay. Once a farm boy, always a farm boy. Something Merlin understood all too well. It was one less task for the stable lads, and they had no problem with that at all.

Leon, Percival, Bors, Breunor and Galahad. The five of them went on patrol together, trained together, and drank together. But there were always four empty spaces at the round table, as there always would be.

Merlin had just begun making his way over to Bors (who's armour was looking particularly shiny today, and was that a slight burnish of red to it, matching his exquisitely pressed cape? Why yes it was. A job well done) when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He couldn't help the smile that broke across his lips. "Gilli!"

A little way across the field, engrossed in examining Bors' messy signature on his scroll, Gilli jolted and looked around. His blank expression quickly faded, a smile to rival Merlin's own landing squarely on his face as he set eyes on the warlock hurrying towards him. "Merlin!"

They greeted one another with a warm hug, Merlin unable to stifle a laugh at the idea of finding his friend in the middle of all this stress. "What are you doing here?"

Gilli waved his scroll. "Entering the tournament. This time I'm going to use my skills to fight fairly, in a way that everyone can see." He glanced around, watching the other competitors with wide eyes. "It's strange, seeing so many sorcerers in Camelot."

Merlin couldn't help but grin. "You see? I told you we'd meet again, when magic was free."

"And you're no longer a servant."

"No. Not any more."

Gilli nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you."

Merlin exhaled a small breath, feeling his smile wane. "It's... been a long road."

"But Camelot is a better place for it."

"In some ways."

To that, Gilli didn't say anything. He understood Merlin's meaning. The entire Kingdom had mourned Arthur's passing. The people had loved him, and the sadness surrounding his death had been great, Gilli knew. He had mourned the king himself. Maybe magic had not been free under Arthur, but his rule was otherwise just and fair. The burnings had stopped. The deliberate persecution of those innocent of using their magic for evil no longer occurred, as they were no longer out rightly hunted. Arthur had been a good man.

Merlin cleared his throat. "So, where are you staying?"

"At the Rising Sun, if there are any rooms left." Gilli grimaced, though he attempted to swallow it. "Don't much fancy sharing again this time."

"No, no." Merlin shook his head. "You have to come and stay with me and Gaius."

Gilli appeared surprised, and a little taken aback by that. "Are you sure? I won't be in the way? You'll be busy at the feast tonight, and the opening of the tournament tomorrow."

"Come to the feast tonight as my guest."

The young man's eyes boggled. "Are you sure that's alright?"

Merlin chuckled. "Of course it is. We have a lot to catch up on."

Gilli smiled, frowning a little in uncertainty. "I've never been to a feast before. What do you do? Other than, you know, feast and things."

"Nod at what people are saying and try not to look bored, mostly." Merlin answered a little offhandedly. He called out to a boy in the process of hurrying past, and instructed him to show Gilli to the court physician's chambers, slipping him some pennies from his pocket to compensate for neglecting whatever duty he was currently busy with.

The boy (Merlin recognised as a young serving boy by the name of Fingal) didn't mind in the least. Most of the young servants didn't mind doing favours for Merlin. He never ordered them to do anything, but asked nicely, and always gave them pennies or chicken legs in return, so getting bellowed at for neglecting other tasks because of his errands didn't bother them overly much.

"Be back in a bit." Merlin told Gilli, pulling his list from his belt to scan it for possibly the hundredth time that morning. "Just got some things to check on. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Merlin." The two men shook hands, and parted ways for the time being.

Merlin went on his way feeling a little lighter in himself. It was good to see Gilli again, and he was looking forward to catching up with him properly. Perhaps they didn't know each other _that_ well, but having a familiar face around, someone who had not been a part of all the heartache of the past year and events directly preceding it was refreshing. He was looking forward to chatting to Gilli properly. Perhaps having the young sorcerer around would help Merlin to keep himself grounded in all of this?

More than that, he wanted to be by Gilli's side through the tournament. The respect Gilli gained here would be respect for who he truly was, and what he could do. It was something Merlin himself had. The nods he received from the knights not so close as those he called friends were nods to what he could do, and what he had done. Maybe he had never asked for, or expected credit for his actions in protecting Arthur and Camelot, but he would not deny that it was nice to have it. Magic was really, finally, free.

It was something he had become acutely aware of every time he stood at Gwen's side at receptions and ceremonies, or sat at her right during council meetings and celebrations. The stares he felt on him were stares at the sorcerer afforded respect and recognition for his loyalty, invited to stand before them by the ruler of their Kingdom. He was a symbol, and sometimes that weighed just as heavily on his slim shoulders as his destiny had for so many years. It didn't matter though, because he, and all those like him were free. For the first time in his life, he had no secrets. That in itself was equally refreshing and absolutely terrifying...

A shudder ran through him just thinking about it.

Why did it suddenly feel as though he had lost some of his precious freedom?

Feeling chilly, he shrugged off all errant, uncomfortable thoughts and jogged up the steps to the castle. Introspection could wait for later. The list demanded his attention.

* * *

"So, you think you can get it for me?"

The hooded man lifted his flagon from the table and twirled it to and fro between his thumb and forefinger. "Of course. It will cost you, however."

Across the table from him, the shorter, broader man shook his head, scraggly ponytail swishing to and fro with the movement. "You seem to misunderstand the concept of this deal-" he fell abruptly silent, sitting up a little straighter as the hooded man opposite him held up two fingers. Nothing more happened. The broad man swallowed, and lowered his head. "Fine. What do you want?"

"That can wait. First, _I _will deliver the goods. Then _you_ will stand up to your end of the bargain, understood?"

"And what is _my_ end of the bargain, exactly?"

"You will give me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Whatever I ask for."

The surprise, and fear on the broad man's face was plain to see. "And what is that?"

"As I said, that can wait. I will deliver the item you request, and then I will ask."

Nervous, the broad man licked his lips and leant on the table, drawing a little closer to his hooded cohort that his words would not be heard by outside ears. "You know where it is?"

The hooded man did not answer for a moment, nor did he make any moves to join his 'friend' in secrecy when he did. "Where do they keep anything of value? In the vaults beneath the citadel."

"And you are sure it is there? If you are lying to me, Tiarnan-"

The hooded man, Tiarnan moved, almost so quickly that the broad man did not know what was happening until the knife was embedded in the table between his middle and forefinger.

"You will do _what_, Galen?" Tiarnan inquired in a low, dangerous tone.

Across the table, Galen swallowed again, and snatched his hand back. "My master is not a patient man. If he does not get what he wants, then I, and my fellows, will be the least of your worries."

"I am not worried." Tiarnan sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs beneath the table in a leisurely fashion. In the darkness of his hood, his eyes flashed briefly gold. The knife shuddered free from the table and leapt back into his hand.

Galen glanced about him, clearly nervous at the display of magic, small as it may have been. "You should be. It is well defended-"

"The knights are nothing to be afraid of."

"No." Galen shook his head, "Not them." With a final glance around to ensure that nobody was listening, he raised one hand to shield his face from view and turned back to Tiarnan. "The court sorcerer, Merlin."

Tiarnan scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. "That gangly boy? I could snap him like a twig."

"Don't be fooled by his appearance. He is powerful."

"If all goes well, he won't even know it's missing." Not that he would be a real problem. Powerful or not, he was still human. There were many ways to incapacitate a human, many of which Tiarnan was well acquainted with. "Your master will be satisfied, and so long as _I_ receive what I ask for, this transaction will be easy, and painless for all."

Galen raised his own flagon to that, a smile on his face. "That is what I am hoping for."

Tiarnan lowered his head, hiding a small grin in the depths of his hood. "Indeed."

Outside, the rain began to fall.

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**Notes: **An appearance by an old face, and a brief introduction to our new round table. Hope you enjoyed it. We'll be getting more closely acquainted with them in due course. I rather enjoy painting and drawing, and as a result have worked my way through these gallant gents whilst writing (always draw my characters. I find it helps me get to know them via their facial expressions and style of dress, etc). I referenced various actors for them, and can give you a visual on them eventually when I put all my digital paintings of them together into one. If you'd like a visual sans hair and costume, google: Joe Absolom for Bors, Ben Price for Breunor and Richard Madden for Galahad. Next chapter up in the next few days x


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

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It was always quiet down here. Quiet, and cool. Gwen reached out a hand, placing it gently on the smooth stone in front of her. The breath caught in her throat, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. Many times she had come down here to the hall below Camelot. Many times to seek advice, and counsel from those who knew what she faced. Today she came in search of counsel, but also comfort.

She smiled; a small, sad smile that felt so alien in this place it almost hurt her cheeks. Beneath her palm, the monument felt cool, as she had grown accustomed to. It would always be so. While she changed and grew old and burdened with the weight of a Kingdom on her shoulders, this monument would never change. She ran her hand along its side, along the figure carved into the top. That of a man laid out on his back. He held the image of a sword forged in a dragon's breath to his chest. An empty tomb, to an absent king. He was not here, but standing here in front of his monument, Guinevere felt closest to Arthur.

She took her hand back and knitted her fingers at her skirt. She was always nervous asking for advice. Arthur, and every other king and queen interred in this crypt had learned how to approach great events like this from birth. Even after four years on the throne, three of those at Arthur's side, she still doubted herself.

"Arthur." She took a breath. "It's me. I know, back again. I just wanted to let you know what's happening.

"Everyone's here, at last. The feast is going to start soon, so I can't stay long. They all want to listen, or seem to... at least." She fidgeted with her ring a moment, and wound her fingers together. "Merlin-" she cleared her throat "Merlin's been great. I really don't know what I would have done without him. Don't give me that look." A small smile touched her, imagining the sceptical expression she knew would be on his face. She bit it back. "He really has been amazing. Everyone has. Despite how it seemed sometimes, you did surround yourself with the best people you possibly could have. They're taking good care of me."

Hesitant, she turned her eyes down on her hands as she fidgeted. "Amr is doing well. He's going to be hard to keep up with when he learns to walk. Really I think he's going to be just like you. He'll... be a strong king one day. Camelot will be safe and just, then as it is now." Her smile returned, soft and warm and she did not fight it back. "You'd be proud of him, Arthur." She murmured, twiddling her wedding ring on her finger. "He's a lot like you already. He's already throwing things that are light enough to pick up." Pausing, she did bite back her smile then, feeling herself blushing a little with embarrassment. "Mostly at Merlin, so..." with a light cough, she composed herself. "I hope that tonight is going to be alright. That everything will go well. I'll do my best, and do what you would do more than anything else. That usually seems to work. If all goes well, then the Kingdoms will finally be united. There will be peace throughout Albion, like we all want. I just hope that I am strong enough to keep it all together."

Without realising it, she had begun to pace. Halting, she turned back to Arthur's monument.

Looking at it, the same as those of his forebears, the sense of loss was there as great as it ever was. Merlin had said, that though Arthur _was_ gone, one day he would return. _'When Albion's need was greatest.'_

That thought gave Guinevere _some_ comfort.

"Arthur..." She trailed off, unsure what she wanted to say. Perhaps she had come down here for advice, and really she already knew what Arthur would tell her if he could answer her need.

_'Be yourself, Guinevere.' _

The same thing that Merlin had told her earlier.

She did know what she had to do. Arthur had taught her well, and Merlin believed in her, as did all of her people. Of that there was no question.

She had come down here in search of advice, but all along she had known what it would be for tonight. Perhaps she just wanted Arthur's company? To keep him abreast of all that was happening, and the development of their Kingdom. The question was, what did she want to say to him now? Here? Tonight? That she was unsure of herself? He knew that. She had told him so many, many times before. That coming to see him gave her the confidence that she needed? He knew that also. What did she want to say?

Gwen lowered her eyes from her husband's empty tomb, her hands falling from one another to rest at her sides. "Albion is the dawn of a new age for Camelot, Arthur... and we're doing it in your honour. For everything you worked for, and for Camelot's future." She raised her hand and lay it once more against Arthur's side. "You are always in our hearts, Arthur. You always will be."

Guinevere brought her fingers to her lips, and pressed a kiss to them. "I love you, Arthur." She touched them to his cheek. "I always will. Thank you for listening."

Tears in her eyes, Gwen turned and walked away, her gown sweeping in quiet rustles behind her unbearably loud in the silent, echoing space.

It may have been her imagination, but she always felt slightly warmer on her ascent from the crypt, Maybe Arthur really was listening somewhere? That thought always warmed her heart, and lightened her burden some. She just hoped that wherever he was, he could see what she was doing, and was proud.

* * *

"Gaius!"

Merlin threw open the door to their shared chambers, rushing in to find the place empty. He halted abruptly, surprised. It would soon be time for the feast. Surely Gaius should be here getting ready? That he wasn't seemed perfectly strange. Wrinkling his nose in thought, Merlin made his way across the chamber to the table and what looked like Gaius' quill and inkwell standing haphazard and unwashed. Recently used, then? He was right.

A hastily-scrawled note lay pinned on the table underneath it:

'_Merlin,_

_Called away on emergency visit to the Lower town. Back soon. Your friend is settled in and has taken his equipment to the armoury. You had better get ready or you will be late.'_

"Knows me far too well." Merlin murmured, tossing the note back down in the general direction of the table and giving a long stretch.

It had been a mad rush all day. After the training field he had been all over the citadel, ensuring that the maids were making the dignitaries comfortable enough, invading the kitchens and checking up on the preparations for the feast (which had earned him a bellowing at from Audrey and a hard rap across the knuckles from her wooden spoon in punishment for taking a peeled carrot awaiting slicing), followed by a quick dash over to the knights' quarters to find out who was on patrol during the feast. After that he had been caught in the courtyard by Bors and listened to a tirade of moaning about how embarrassing it was to be stuck in the admin tent all day:

'_Thing looks like a posh privy. Been sitting there all day with my knees up round my ears, looking like a bloody gnome on display at its business. Got a dead wrist from scribbling. The things I do for this Kingdom.'_

Then it had been up the stairs to the queen's chambers to nag and bother Luned and make sure that Gwen would be ready on time. He had gotten the message and left after the poor maid huffed and set about him with one of Gwen's pillows, beating and harrying him with it all the way across the room and a little way down the corridor for good measure. Much to the amusement of the guards posted outside.

All that running around had tired him out. How he would love to just collapse into bed and sleep the whole night through...

Thinking of blessed sleep caused a wide yawn to overtake him. Even powerful warlocks needed an early night now and again.

There was a thump – a heavy thump – that echoed around the chamber.

Merlin froze. It sounded as though it had come from his room...

Cautious, he turned and began taking tentative steps towards the stairs.

_Thump_.

Defensively, Merlin raised his hand, and began very slowly, very carefully, to ascend the stairs.

_THUMP!_

There was definitely somebody up there. Going through his possessions, it sounded like.

A deep feeling of dread settled over him. That was a dangerous thing. The amount of enchanted objects he had accrued over the years; things Arthur didn't, and couldn't know about for the sake of safeguarding his secret: enchanted lances, Manticore box shards, cursed swords, dragon scales, triskelions, egg shards, not to mention various phials forever tainted with magic from the dangerous potions they had contained...

He really ought to throw those out...

There were a number of things somebody with magical knowledge could find it useful in some way - a magical armoury, really – and a variety of objects somebody ignorant of magic could seriously damage themselves on, or worse. He did need to have a good clear out.

Tense, he paused at the top of the stairs, and took a deep breath. With an offensive spell at the forefront of his mind, he threw the door open...

… and dropped his hand abruptly, standing dumbstruck and probably gaping.

Beside his bed, straight-backed, deferent, proper, hands clasped tidily behind his back, stood George.

Merlin started, sure that he ought to say something, but not sure what exactly. George was in his room. George. The most efficient servant in all the Kingdoms, there, in his room, standing looking back at him.

Not only was George, the most efficient servant in all the Kingdoms (and more than likely the known world) standing in his room, but so was a freshly poured and steaming hot bath.

Merlin glanced around, expecting Bors, or Percival to come bursting out of nowhere and start laughing and tousling his hair, only to find that he almost didn't recognise his own room.

It was... tidy.

Sparkling, in fact. Everything has been put away in a proper place: his bed stripped back and freshly made with clean linen, Lancelot's enchanted lance and the Sidhe staff leant in the corner against the wall, and his magic book had been pulled out from beneath the floorboards and dusted clean. Despite no longer having to hide it, leaving it in the floor seemed like a good idea as he knew that he would not lose it under there, and it _was_ where he placed all of his most treasured items. It now lived on the top of a small pile of dog-eared books on the table beside his bed. His wooden dragon stood beside them, on display for all to see.

On the foot of his bed, a set of fresh clothes, including neckerchief, had been laid out. Freshly pressed and rolled for hairs, ready to be changed into.

Speechless, Merlin looked at George, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Incredibly efficient, professional to a fault, and a polishing hobbyist he may be, but George knew a dumbstruck expression when he saw one. As such, he deemed this a correct time to speak without first being spoken to.

"Master Merlin. Your bath, is ready."

Hearing the pinnacle of servile excellence speak, Merlin set eyes on the bath, and for the first time, felt able to do the same. "Yes. I can see that." He stared at it, baffled by its very presence. "How did you get it here? Did you carry every pitcher of water, _and_ the bath up here on your own?"

George gave a single, definitive nod. "I did. Yes."

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, still staring at the prepared bath in disbelief. He exhaled loudly, probably meant to be the beginnings of an answer though he could not be entirely sure himself, and ran a hand up into his hair. "I am... speechless."

Strangely, George seemed satisfied with that statement. "Good. As is correct. No words should be exchanged between master and servant during the act of bathing."

Merlin did not seem to hear. "Right... right." He shook his head, finding himself glancing about the room again briefly before settling back on George. "Sorry. What are you doing here again?"

"Ah yes." George bobbed lightly on his toes. Expressionless but for that slightly nasal look that seemed to be the only one he was capable of. "You have long been overdue the assignment of a manservant, master Merlin. As you are aware, Sir Gareth recently passed away -"

"Yes." Merlin nodded. Sir Gareth, brave knight, and indulgent on the ale of an evening . A little too indulgent, clearly. Sir Gareth, up until his death, George's master. "Condolences."

"-Indeed. With the termination of Sir Gareth's life, came the termination of my services as his manservant. In my search for a new post, I came to learn of your unfulfilled need for a personal servant. Naturally, I simply leapt at the chance."

"Naturally." What in the world was going on? Was he _really_ serious? Of course he was. This was George. If he wasn't being serious it would involve references to brass.

Merlin tried to clear the fog out of his head., lost somewhere between the muzz of confusion and cold understanding. "What did you do to my room?"

George did not even look around. He made no move to survey his handiwork whatsoever. He just stared straight back at Merlin with that same, single expression. "I have cleaned it."

"I can see that, but..." Merlin waved his hand around, gesturing to the miraculous transformation, "this goes beyond clean."

That was going to be taken literally, it would appear. "I have also organised it. Clothing now resides inside the cupboard, boots beneath the bed. Herbs are arranged across the drying line in order of relevance to your everyday usage of them. Books are shelved aside from those read most often which, as you have already observed, are placed within easy reach. Medical apparatus is within the chest against the wall, while weaponry has been relocated beneath the left-hand side of the bed. Scrolls containing spells have been organised into alphabetical order and filed away accordingly upon the shelves at the back of your desk."

Shelves at the back of...? Merlin looked to his desk, surprised to find a brand new shelving unit consisting of twenty-six pigeon holes, almost all of which contained the dog-eared scrolls and scraps of paper on which he had written spells he had created himself. "Where did that come from?"

"I took the liberty of commissioning the royal joiner to build them this afternoon. Call it a welcome gift, to mark this my first day in your service."

Suddenly everything fell into place. All that George had been telling him, that had refused to penetrate his stress-addled brain hit home with a crash. What? Merlin didn't quite know what to do with himself. Laugh. Maybe cry? Something, at any rate. "Thank you, George." He managed at last, only a slightly audible shake of disbelief to his voice, "but I really don't need a servant."

George seemed momentarily surprised by such a flat statement. "You are a member of the royal court, master Merlin. Protocol dictates that you be attended by a manservant."

"I don't follow protocol. More of a find-my-own-way courtier, me." Merlin managed a grin. "I don't think there's much precedent for court sorcerers any more."

George, however, was ready with an expressionless, inflectionless counter-attack. "I have researched the subject of sorcerers to the court widely since learning of this opening for a manservant. It is quite usual for the court sorcerer of Camelot to be in possession of a personal servant."

Damn.

"But-" Merlin looked around, desperately searching for some release. There had to be some way of getting out of this. "It's not safe to have someone around who's not used to magic." He blurted hurriedly, and somewhat bluntly for his own liking. He endeavoured to soften the blow with a little explanation. "There are a lot of extremely dangerous magical artifacts just lying around in here. It's really not safe."

To his despair, George nodded, bent to the side and retrieved something from the floor. "That is why I have these." He held up a large pair of coal tongs. "Precautions have been taken. It would not do for me to suffer and injury and be unable to serve you to the best of my abilities."

Merlin forced a grin. "No. That wouldn't do at all."

"Now," George laid his magical artifact handling tongs aside, and picked up a towel to fold it expertly and perfectly over his arm. "Your bath is getting cold, master Merlin."

With a worried frown, Merlin eyed the bath. George was serious, wasn't he? The man was standing there, waiting to bathe him. "Oh... no." Merlin shook his head. "No, no. It's really alright. I can bathe myself."

"But protocol dictates-"

"I can do this myself."

"Master Merlin, I must insist-"

"Me too. I'm fine doing this on my own."

George appeared almost affronted, as though his very skills as a servant were being called into question. But, ever the professional, perhaps a compromise could be reached? "Very well. However it is a necessity that a servant remain present in case of emergency."

"Emergency?" Merlin stared. "What can happen to me in the bath?"

"It is widely known that Roger of Powys met his end after falling asleep while bathing. Since then it has been protocol that a servant remain nearby to raise the alarm, should an emergency arise."

"George, I don't think I'm going to drown in the bath ."

"Accidents happen, master Merlin."

He really wasn't going to go away. Feeling more than a little stressed, Merlin ran both hands up into his hair and glanced back at the door. He could make a run for it, bolt out the door and disappear into the maze of corridors used and unused throughout the citadel. George would never find him – he knew every hiding place, every ceiling hatch, alcove and trap door. After skulking in the shadows practising magic without detection for a decade, nobody knew the castle as well as Merlin, but...

He hazarded a look at the bath, and at George standing there expectantly clutching a towel, both eyebrows raised. It wouldn't have been easy to cart all that water up here. Not to mention the bath tub itself. From experience he knew what a pain in the neck it was to carry and heat enough water to fill a bath. It was the only task he routinely used magic for whilst serving Arthur.

Thinking about it in technical terms, the thought of running away made him feel... well... something of a git.

"Alright." He felt himself beginning to turn red. It always showed up so clearly on his pale skin. "I'll take a bath, but..." this really was embarrassing, "you have to turn around."

George appeared momentarily surprised, but nodded his head and turned away, probably thinking that Merlin didn't have anything he hadn't seen before. That was beside the point, though.

This was ridiculous. Merlin huffed. First chance he got, Gwen was going to hear about this. Maybe she would laugh (alright. She would _definitely_ laugh), but he was going to protest vigorously until she backed him up.

Fidgeting, Merlin clenched his teeth and raised his chin to tug at and untie his neckerchief. Why did he have to care about other people's feelings? Not like anyone ever cared about his...

* * *

With a weary sigh, Gaius closed the door behind himself and let his shoulders slump. Running off to the Lower town to treat what had turned out to be nothing more than an allergy to dogs? He was getting too old for this.

"Merlin?"

No answer. Tired, Gaius shuffled across to the table and set his bag down. His ward had definitely been here – the note he had written earlier had been read and tossed down in a very untidy, very Merlin fashion if its being under the table had anything to do with anything. "Merlin?"

Still no reply. There was apparently somebody in his room. There were sounds of movement up there...

Gaius suddenly felt very ill at ease. Merlin would have answered him, had he been up there, and Gilli _had_ answered him when he first came across the boy in his chambers.

He frowned up the stairs at the door, his unease growing. The prospect of somebody rummaging around in Merlin's room was potentially a grave one. That boy treated it like Camelot's magical rubbish dump. In the right hands, Merlin's detritus could be more dangerous than anything found in the armoury.

Worried, Gaius glanced about his chambers, eyes falling on the broom leaning haphazardly against the wall. What if there was a powerful sorcerer up there? One couldn't simply burst in and attack them. He looked around a little further. Gone were the days when there had been a wide selection of magic books to consult just lying around this room, and gone was the sword he had once kept concealed underneath the tabletop for the confrontation of intruders. Perhaps a potion? But there was nothing useful brewed. He couldn't well stand there and brew a potion while an intruder sacked Merlin's room and armed themselves much better. What else was there?

The leech tank? Perhaps a handful of leeches, toss them at the intruder and set about them with the broom in the confusion and disgust? No, that would unlikely work, and the broom was too flimsy to be any good as a weapon.

Bottles? A broken bottle could be a vicious weapon, he was well aware. Stitching up Gwaine had given him various opportunities to see first hand the damage they could inflict (also, he had used them more than once as his weapon of choice in the unsavoury misdemeanours of his youth that Merlin did not know about and never would). A broken bottle was a good idea, quick and not much physical strength required to do damage. Good, only...

There were no bottles to be seen. Granted all that there had been were empty, but they appeared to have been cleaned away. Gaius raised an eyebrow. Why did Merlin have to choose today to become tidy?

That option was out. Only one choice remained, other than the broom...

Cautiously, Gaius climbed the stairs to Merlin's room. He moved as silently as his old bones would allow, though he feared that their creaking may be heard above that of the stairs. He clutched the mop tightly, grasping it ready to swing. There were strange sloshing sounds coming from behind the door. Though the other sounds of movement had ceased for the time being.

Nervous, Gaius took a breath. Drawing back the mop, he thrust open the door and burst through.

"Gaius!" Merlin squeaked, his voice high pitched in his surprise. He folded his arms reflexively over his chest, eyes wide at the sight of his mentor leaping into his room brandishing a mop as a deadly weapon.

Of course, the commotion caused George to turn around leaving Merlin feeling even more exposed.

Gaius lowered the mop, taken aback by the rather unusual scene before him. Then he remembered what a private person Merlin was and immediately turned his back. "Oh."

Merlin wanted to curl in on himself and disappear. Maybe he had purposely whipped the bathwater up into a dense field of bubbles to hide his shame prior to Gaius' intrusion, but he still felt the back of his neck burning with embarrassment. It may not be the case for everyone, but bath time was a private, alone sort of thing as far as he was concerned. He certainly wasn't used to having an audience and sitting there, covering his chest with his arms and blushing horribly, he could almost _hear_ Arthur laughing at him from wherever he was.

'_Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin.' _

_'Why are you watching me in the bath in the first place?'_

_'… Shut up, Merlin!' _

A little flustered, Gaius endeavoured to explain himself. "I'm sorry, my boy. When I returned I called out to you, but received no response. Therefore I assumed an intruder had gained access to your room."

"I had my head underwater!" Merlin squeaked back. "I couldn't hear you!"

"I'm very sorry. I didn't imagine you would be in the bath."

"That's all thanks to George."

The servant didn't notice the glare his master set on him. He was far too busy giving a practiced bow to Gaius' turned back. "George." He introduced himself, despite the obviousness of his identity. "Master Merlin's new manservant."

Gaius did look over his shoulder then, unable to help it as his eyebrow reached new heights. "Manservant?"

"Protocol dictates that as court sorcerer I should have one." Merlin parroted sarcastically. George either did not notice, or was totally unperturbed.

"When I heard there was an opening in the position, I jumped at the chance."

Gaius was unsure how exactly to respond to that. "Oh, you _jumped_ at it?"

George gave a single, certain nod. "I did indeed."

Unsure, Gaius glanced at Merlin. His ward merely made a face and shrugged, arms still crossed over his chest.

This whole situation was plainly bizarre. The very idea of Merlin with a manservant of his own? The poor boy was going to hate every minute of it. The only time Merlin would let anybody do anything for him was when he was desperately ill. Even then if he could move an arm he would not allow it. These were going to be trying times, until Merlin inevitably sent George packing, which he most certainly would. He'd get his own way eventually. Gaius just had to hope that it involved George leaving of his own volition, and not in a small box with air holes. The look on Merlin's face just then, the physician would not put anything past him.

That in mind, now seemed like a good time to exit. "I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I?"

"If you would." Merlin grumbled, hunching his shoulders.

Gaius nodded and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him to the dulcet tones of his ward shouting 'GET OFF!' as George likely tried to scrub his back or hair.

The old physician let out a long, resigned sigh. These were going to be trying times indeed.

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**Note:** And what is possibly my favourite chapter but one of the whole story. I love George. I envisioned him and Merlin interacting from the very start :P Because, and I never get tired of saying it, I _loooove_ George! The next chapter will probably be up next week as my time is now dominated entirely by work and uni (I have a date with Voltaire and an essay to get done by the 5th), so it may be a bit longer than the updates have been coming so far.

Thank you mersan123 and ddd for your reviews! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this! ddd, in answer to your review on Royal Retreat, thank you so much! And don't worry. I won't abandon it! There should be a new chapter up before the end of the month! xxx

Thanks! xxxx


	5. Chapter V

Chapter V

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* * *

This had to be done quietly. Sleeping spells, as effective as they were, did not always last long. This one in particular suffered as an underdog in the potency to time ratio. That would be of no matter. This would not take long.

Tiarnan ducked against the wall and flattened himself to it. He drew his hood closer about his chin, and cautiously glanced around the corner. It was cool down here, and a little damp. He fought to suppress a shiver.

Around the corner, two guards stood watch either side of the iron gate. They would be easily dealt with. Ducking his head, he repeated the words of his sleeping spell.

A flash of golden irises, and both guards crumpled to the ground. The noise their spears made as the weapons clattered to the ground should have been enough to bring their nearby comrades running. None would come. They all slept soundly as far back along the halls as Tiarnan had come. Quickly, he stepped from his hiding place and around the corner to approach the gates.

As expected, they were heavy and locked fast. It was as Galen had said – Camelot's vaults were well defended. Through the bars he could see his prize, or more... sense it. His magic may not be as well attuned to seek out nearby power as some others', but by no stretch of the imagination was it weak, and it was schooled. He could sense the magic rolling off the object in waves. Hidden away out of sight in an old oaken box, it may be, but it was definitely there, calling out to him just by being. That was it, sitting at head height on the shelf directly opposite the gates.

Curious, Tiarnan pushed at the gates. He was unsurprised when they did not budge. Of course they were locked. The items beyond were of great value and needed to be protected. Though it was nothing of any real monetary value that interested him.

Tiarnan raised his hand to hover over the lock.

"Tóspringe*."

Nothing happened.

A small frown creased his forehead. His fingers twitched, and he tried again.

"Tóspringe."

Again, nothing happened. The gates remained firmly shut and locked.

He tried again, more forcefully.

"Tóspringe!"

A spark leapt from the lock, but the mechanism did not recede.

"Scæne!*"

Another spark, and then nothing.

He lowered his hand, and raised his eyes to the box on the shelf ahead. Out of reach.

As he had suspected, there was an enchantment on these gates. Galen had mentioned that there may be, but could not say for sure. They were indeed locked by magic, and powerful magic at that. More powerful than that he possessed.

The court sorcerer, Merlin...

Perhaps Galen had been correct? The boy was more powerful than he appeared. One would not think it to look at him.

Merlin's influence complicated matters.

Irritated, Tiarnan rattled the gates and set a stare on the unassuming box beyond. To his dismay, it did not even twitch. There must be a ward on the gates themselves to prevent theft through their bars. Clever, but annoying. It would seem that the keys would be required after all.

Beside his foot, the guards began to stir. Effective his sleeping spell was, but nowhere near long lasting enough. He decided to make good his escape.

Turning, Tiarnan stole down the corridor, ducking into the shadows of one wall at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two more guards passed him, unaware of his presence in the gloom. He heard their discovery of their counterparts, and raised voices as they began berating the no doubt disorientated men for sleeping on the job. They did not even suspect.

He hurried on his way.

This wasted opportunity annoyed him. With all of Camelot's finest currently enjoying the feast and entertaining their great guests, this was the perfect time to put his plan into action. Nothing had been signed, no agreements made. The perfect opportunity to fulfil his role in all of this. That it had been denied him filled him with indignance. It was so unnecessary that this task should be at all difficult.

There would be other opportunities, however. There was ample time before the treaty was signed. The tournament would afford more chances. He had no fear of failure.

Though...

He ascended the stairs from the vaults, pausing to conceal himself behind a tapestry as another guard crossed his path. Though he ought to keep a low profile, and take pains to stay out of Merlin's way. As confident as he was in his own abilities, it never did do to attract attention to oneself...

* * *

So, this was a feast? Gilli stared around, bewildered. Yes, he had been to celebrations held in his home village, but nothing like this. What the people of his village called 'the great hall' could fill this space five times over at least. Camelot's hall of ceremonies was... breathtaking. From the sculpted stone arches and high balustrade, to the tall windows lining one wall, culminating in the magnificent stained glass at the far end of the hall, bathing the long tables set out below in the cool glow of moonlight through the warm colour of the fierce red dragon at its centre. Glass was a rarity where he came from, and stained glass something he had never seen until coming to this hall. He found it quite wonderful.

The table themselves were set out in the customary three-sided formation. Almost every available space was occupied by men and women dressed in finery that made Gilli feel a little out of place in his worn old jerkin and mended trousers.

Servants moved among the tables removing and replenishing dishes of food, and pouring wine with alarming speed and efficiency. It was organised chaos, and he didn't know quite what to make of it all.

In front of him was a plate piled high with more food than he had ever seen. So much so that he wasn't sure what to do with all of it. Not eat _all_ of it, surely? So while a solution worked itself out in his head, he settled for sitting and gaping at it rather gormlessly.

Beside him, Merlin seemed to have managed to make most of his disappear, and was currently enjoying a chicken leg with some gusto. He hadn't eaten the rest of his platter, so exactly where it had got to was currently unexplained.

Still gaping, Gilli looked around his table. He had never thought that he would be a part of something like this. To share a table with the village elders was thought an honour. Today he sat with kings and queens and knights.

He glanced again at Merlin, experiencing a moment of revelation as the last of his friend's chicken leg vanished under the table into the waiting jaws of a very grateful hound. That made sense. No magic involved.

Merlin seemed perfectly at ease seated with Queen Guinevere on his left. Royalty didn't phase Merlin in the least. He had been servant to a prince and a king (admittedly both the same person, but still). He knew what he ought to be doing. So Gilli took a leaf out of his book and got stuck into his meal. That was a task in itself. Where to start?

Across the table, reaching for her goblet, Annis got the conversation flowing as she addressed Gwen. "Your hospitality is impressive, Guinevere. You certainly know how to make one feel welcome."

Gwen bobbed her head. "Thank you, my Lady. We have tried to accommodate everyone in comfort and warmth."

"And you have managed well. It is a pleasure to finally be guest at Camelot, and beautiful your city truly is. A haven for your people," Annis glanced at Merlin, catching his attention as he started on another chicken leg, "for people's of every persuasion."

Gwen felt herself wanting to smile, but bit it back. "Thank you."

Annis did smile, and held her goblet up that a servant may come forward and fill it. "It is reassuring to know that Caerleon has such a stable and strong ally."

"And here is hoping that there will be many more allies soon to come."

A murmur of agreement rippled around most of the table, feeding Gwen's confidence some.

Annis' smile remained as she turned her full attention on Merlin. "And you, court sorcerer. I believe we were promised a demonstration of your gifts earlier today."

Gilli glanced at Merlin to find him meeting Annis' cool gaze quietly.

"There was talk of it, My lady." Merlin returned evenly, setting down his chicken leg and reaching for his goblet.

Annis nodded. "I have much been looking forward to it."

"I hope I don't disappoint."

Gwen bit back a smile and turned her head away from Merlin. Whether or not she was looking forward to a demonstration herself, she had not yet decided. Just what Merlin had in mind, she was not sure. Neither was she wholly comfortable with the idea of him being put on display. So long as he didn't mind, and so long as his choice of magic wasn't a total disaster. The greatest sorcerer to ever live, he may be, but he was still Merlin. The likelihood of error was pretty great.

"Is it true, my Lady Guinevere, that you have unicorns roaming the woods?"

Gwen looked over at Mithian to find her friend looking back at her. She was truly glad to have Mithian there. The kind queen's easy presence made speaking in front of the other gathered royalty much less daunting. "Yes. There have been sightings on some sunny days."

A bright smile graced Mithian's lovely face. "Wonderful. I dearly hope to see one whilst I am here. They have become very, very rare in Nemeth. They are something I have always wished to see."

"And I." Gwen had always dreamed of meeting a unicorn. Even growing up in a Kingdom that feared, persecuted and reviled magic, it had been her dream from a little girl to one day encounter one of the beautiful beasts. And she had.

Just one ordinary day, no different to any other. She had been by herself, picking mushrooms in the Darkling woods just outside the city when she felt that she was no longer alone. She looked up, and across the clearing had stood a unicorn. Even now the memory took her breath away. She had never in her life seen something so beautiful.

They had regarded one another silently, neither moving towards the other. Gwen remembered how she had been happy to just watch it. See it. Such an aura of gentleness and peace surrounded the creature that she had felt in need of nothing more than to simply be in its presence.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it had twitched its ears and moved away; its shining white coat gleaming through the trees as it vanished from her sight. It was an experience unlike any she had had before.

She had picked up her basket of herbs and mushrooms and immediately run home and told her father. He had not been angry with her, not scolded her for involving herself with magic by remaining when she saw the unicorn. He had held her by the shoulders and smiled. He had cried happy tears and told her that she truly was a special girl - that to see a unicorn meant one was destined for great things. That was also the day that her father had forged the sword Merlin had since told her would later become Excalibur. A day of destiny that she would never forget.

That was why her addition to Camelot's standard was the white unicorn.

Arthur's dragon, and her unicorn.

It felt right, and she felt gifted to have been visited by such a beautiful, peaceful creature. She was grateful to it for choosing her, and she wanted to show her gratitude.

It was as she mused, that she became aware of a servant replenishing one of the many candelabras lighting the hall. She wrinkled her nose in thought. Funny, but those candles should not have needed attention so soon. They were all fresh as the feast began. She had instructed so herself. They ought to have hours of burning time left.

A high-pitched whinny rang shrill in the air, breaking the hubbub of chatter at the table and plunging the rest of the hall into silence.

From behind Mithian's forearm where she rested it lightly upon the table, trotted a little unicorn made of flame. It halted before the Queen of Nemeth, and tossed its head proudly, its flaming mane and tail giving off tiny, glowing embers.

Gwen looked at Merlin, finding him apparently completely ignorant of the tiny creature holding the others in the hall in rapt amazement. He was too busy taking a long drink from his goblet to even notice its presence. She knew better, and nudged his ankle under the table with her boot.

"Show off." She murmured, answered with the flick of an eyebrow.

The little unicorn pranced across the table before Mithian, snorting and buck-jumping. It turned a circle and lowered its head, blowing its nose as it gazed at its reflection in one of her rings.

Entranced, the young queen tentatively lifted her hand, looking briefly to Merlin for reassurance before extending her fingers towards the glowing creature.

With a cautious snort, the unicorn reached out towards her with its nose. They met, Mithian feeling no heat, no burn from the tiny flaming creature as it tickled at her fingertips, nubbing at her nails with soft lips just like those of her corporeal horse.

"Beautiful." She breathed, looking first to Gwen, and then Merlin. "Truly wonderful."

Merlin inclined his head slightly in thanks, glancing at Annis as a small flame dragon in the image of baby Aithusa crawled up her arm and settled on her shoulder.

The queen seemed impressed by it, turning her head to examine it but remaining silent. Before anyone could remark on the new creation, the table came alive with an assortment of miniature, flaming creatures of magic.

Gwen glanced at Merlin, her eyes remaining on him as she caught the expression on his face. He looked truly happy. The same way he had looked when he first demonstrated his magic for her after his return to Camelot.

Those around him were fascinated by the selection of dragons, unicorns, griffins, manticores and Sidhe moving about the table, glowing and flickering as the candle flames they were.

She felt herself smiling, and laid her hand fondly atop Merlin's arm. He looked back at her and grinned. That same silly grin he had worn that day he met her whilst stood in the stocks a little more than a decade ago. She loved that grin, and she loved what he could do, and what he did do with his wonderful gifts.

Like all those born during and after the Great purge, she had grown up thinking magic to be evil. It was what she had been taught. This – Merlin's magic – was _not_ evil. It was good, and it was beautiful. She had known for a long time, and felt it confirmed ever since she realised the identity of the sorcerer on the cliff top at Camlann, that magic was not inherently evil.

How could magic be evil when Merlin possessed it? Was a creature of magic himself?

The answer was clear. Magic was not evil. It was what those who used it made of it. What she saw in front of her now, was wonderful.

Gilli sat silently and watched it all in amazement. All those wonderful little creatures and the people watching them. Nobody reacted with fear, or anger. They were looking at Merlin and his magic with reverence, and admiration. Real admiration, and they looked at Queen Guinevere with the same.

He looked at Merlin also, astonished. Yes, he had known that Merlin had magic, but not that he could do something like this. He felt a tickling sensation upon his upturned palm, and looked down to find a wyvern nesting there, tucking its nose beneath its tail as it settled to sleep.

Annis had turned her attention away from the flame Aithusa at her shoulder, and back to Merlin. She addressed him with a small smile on her face, in a tone that betrayed a little of her admiration for his skilful display. "Quite remarkable. I take it that these little imps are but a fraction of what you are truly capable of?"

"That depends, my Lady -" Merlin replied, slamming the edge of his hand down on the table to thwart a goblin in the process of rolling an apple away from Gaius' plate. With a series of almost lazy blinks, every one of his little flame creatures vanished. "- On what my magic is needed for."

"It could be a powerful weapon." Alined spoke up, broken from his reverie of a pixie that had taken an unsettling interest in trying to embrace his thumb, as the strange little woman went out in a wisp of smoke and tallow scent. "Should Camelot wish to expand her lands." He finished in an almost sweet tone. One that put Gwen's back up.

"Merlin is not a weapon." She informed him sternly, meeting his eyes. "And Camelot has no desire to expand our lands. We want only peace."

"Of course." Alined bowed his head, smiling rather smarmily for a man who had just suffered an admonishment. "That is what we _all_ wish for."

"If that were to change?" Lot ventured gruffly, ignoring Alined's last comment.

Merlin cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the table. "I don't like to use my magic offensively." He murmured, feeling more than a little uncomfortable suddenly.

Lot appeared surprised. "You would not attack, should Camelot be endangered?"

"I do not like to use my magic to kill," Merlin returned levelly. He raised his eyes and met those of Essetir's king with a steely determination that almost sent a shiver down Lot's spine, "but I _will_ use it to defend Camelot."

Guinevere smiled. She did not try to hide it, and gave Merlin's arm a little squeeze. The stare he had set on Lot was one she had seen him use before on those he perceived as enemies, including Morgana. He would defend Camelot, and he was daring Lot to challenge that assertion. He relaxed under her contact as it did its job and subtly reined him in.

"Merlin is not a weapon." She repeated. "He is a consultant on magical matters. A counsel. What he chooses to do with his magic is his decision and his alone. We in Camelot are lucky enough that he uses it for our protection, and that of our allies."

Mithian nodded her agreement with that, affording Gwen some relief.

Lot regarded Guinevere thoughtfully, switching his gaze to Mithian, and then to Merlin. At last, he returned his attention to Gwen and nodded. "It would seem that there are many benefits to an alliance with Camelot. It is a prospect worthy of great thought indeed."

Gwen inclined her head respectfully and smiled gratefully at Mithian. The others on the table seemed to be thinking on it also. Except for Annis. She decided that as an ally of Camelot already, she did not need to. Instead she addressed Merlin.

"Well, sorcerer. Your skills are most impressive. Rest assured that you were not a disappointment."

Merlin smiled at that. He couldn't help himself. "Thank you, my Lady."

Annis made no response to that. She merely turned to address Bayard where he sat beside her.

Gilli blinked. He really did not know what to make of anything he had just seen. Aside from the magic, had Merlin just stood up to a king?

Whether or not any questions came to mind on the subject, Merlin's attention was engaged elsewhere. Sir Kay had just re-entered the hall. A swish of green and white fabrics beside him indicating the Lady Branwen's presence. She had apparently been feeling unwell a short time before the feast began, and had left the hall not too long ago for a breath of fresh air with her intended at her side. Merlin traced their movements back across the hall to their table to the right of his and observed Kay help her to sit.

She appeared very pale, and perhaps a little cold. Around her neck was that dragon necklace, on display for all to see. The sight of it sent a shiver through him, though the deep feeling of unease he had suffered earlier had receded to something of a background hum. That sense of power remained, but this time it felt different. It felt... dormant. The Lady herself looked harmless enough, but something niggling in the back of his mind refused to allow him to put her from his mind. Not until he had a chance to look into that necklace -

A sudden presence behind him caused him to almost leap out of his skin. George was there hanging over him, replenishing his goblet from the jug in his servile hands with more grace and skill than should ever be possible to afford to such a mundane task. Merlin felt several years of his life fall out of his reach and took a deep, calming breath. George had come with him to the feast, unnerving Gilli on the way with the meticulous manner in which he insisted on keeping exactly seven steps behind them at any one time. Since reaching the hall Merlin had quite forgotten about him.

Though the swiftness of George's action in appearing to refill the goblet must mean that he had been standing behind Merlin's chair the entire time, silently watching and waiting for an opportunity to do exactly what he had just done.

He really needed to get a hobby that didn't involve polishing.

As silently and efficiently as he had loomed, George withdrew. No doubt to lurk in obscurity until his formidable pouring skills were needed again. Merlin couldn't bring himself to look. The idea of actually _knowing_ that George hadn't evaporated into thin air unnerved him, so he preferred to remain in ignorance.

So instead of worrying about the whereabouts and proximity of his _very temporary_ manservant, Merlin focused his attention on the right hand table and Branwen once more.

She appeared to be listening to something one of the council members was saying, nodding at appropriate intervals. She didn't look to be doing anything suspicious, but he just could not shake that sense of unease.

His attention switched to Nia as she arrived behind her mistress and poured her a new goblet of wine (much lacking the practiced finesse of George-administered pouring). Lady Branwen thanked her, and continued listening to the council member while her maid moved to replenish Kay's cup.

Merlin regarded the maid a moment, noting that she winced as she moved the jug in her hands. No wonder. The skin between her thumb and forefinger was bright red. Even in the low light it was easy to see that there was some form of friction injury there, perhaps a blister. What on earth could have caused that? Surely not her day's chores. On a visit to the citadel she should not have any concerns other than those affecting her mistress. She should not need to sweep or scrub floors. So where had she gotten that blister? And in the time between her arrival and the feast? Just how hard did her mistress work her?

Odin's voice – the first time that the king had spoken – drew Merlin from his thoughts.

"You're late."

Merlin returned his attention to his own table, finding that hooded man he had seen with Odin in the Courtyard taking a seat beside the king. Nothing was said. The newcomer merely nodded to Odin as he sat. He did not remove his hood.

Aware that the eyes of the table were now on him, and that no introduction had been made, Odin did so. "This is Tiarnan, my Lady." He informed Gwen. "My personal guard and constant companion."

Gwen greeted the newcomer with a smile. "You are very welcome."

No reply was forthcoming,

Her smile fell away.

With a light cough, Odin explained. "Forgive me. I should have said. Tiarnan is of the Fierdesne gàst. It is custom among his people that they do not speak between the hours of sunset and rise. Nor do they show their faces outside of their clans."

Gwen hesitated, but nodded. "Of course. Camelot respects the customs of all peoples." She addressed Tiarnan again, a smile on her lips. "You truly are very welcome here."

Tiarnan offered her a nod, which brought the warmth back into her smile.

Merlin observed Tiarnan quietly, not sure what to make of him. He had noted the man's presence in the courtyard, and had marked him as a druid. He had never heard of the Fierdesne gàst before. Perhaps they were a faction of druids? Though, to be the personal guard of a king would mean that Tiarnan was not against raising a hand in violence. Here Merlin had thought that the druids were all peaceful people.

The sudden memory of Mordred left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew well enough that the nature of a person was not wholly dictated by the situation they were born into, but he couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable.

Unsure, he looked to Gaius, finding his mentor to be quietly watching at Tiarnan with a degree of interest that could only mean he knew something. Merlin made a mental note to ask him later.

"Guinevere," Elena addressed Gwen, the picture of beauty and elegance and every bit as regal as any queen to be, "tell me, shall we be seeing more of the young prince during our stay?"

With a smile, Gwen reached for her wine. "Possibly. Amr is still very young. I am trying not to excite him too much with all that is going on."

"Surely he would love the attention?" Elena protested gently. "He _is_ Arthur's son."

"There is no denying that." Gwen admitted with a laugh.

No. Merlin unconsciously raised his hand to the back of his head and rubbed at the painful lump there. A lump caused by the astonishingly high speed connection of a small painted hoop that had struck him from across the room without warning. Amr was Arthur's son alright.

Mithian joined the discussion with a soft smile. "I have always thought that he has Arthur's eyes."

"He does." Gwen agreed.

"He will be a handsome young man." Elena commented. "No doubt he will be breaking hearts around Camelot the moment he can lead a hunt."

Gwen finished her wine and bit back a smile. She already had a feeling that it was going to be difficult to keep track of Amr once he could run around the castle. With Arthur's manners already becoming apparent, as well as his sense of humour, and what she had occasionally thought to be Elyan's sense of adventure and her father's ingenuity in the way he examined his toys so closely, it would not be easy to watch him. He would have a sword in hand and be off looking for trouble immediately he could. He was going to drive everyone mad.

He already threw things with enthusiasm, and had developed a particular fondness for _that_ painting of Arthur fighting an... absolutely ridiculous monster.

She wanted to shake her head, thinking of that abomination. The origins of that piece of 'art' and the subject matter somewhat detracted from the heroism Arthur had hoped it would convey. Exactly how his commissioning of such a 'heroic' and 'kingly' work had gone so ridiculously wrong was a story for another day. She knew it all now, and had nearly wet herself laughing when Merlin told her that it was of course, all his fault. That had not been her most regal moment.

Arthur and Merlin... Gwen giggled inside at some of the situations they had gotten themselves into. Amr adored Merlin also, and as a result, her plan for dealing with the prince when he drove her mad currently consisted of give him to Merlin and run. She loved Arthur so much, and always would, but did find herself hoping that Amr wouldn't turn out _exactly_ like his father. With that thought in mind:

"Here's hoping that hearts will be the only thing he breaks."

Both Mithian and Elena looked at Merlin, causing him to pause with a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth between the two women and Gwen as she mirrored them.

"What?"

To his chagrin, all three began to laugh. His cheeks flushed red. "What?"

"It's alright, Merlin." Gwen bit her lip and shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

Ghost hunting around the citadel at midnight; chasing trolls, faeries and pixies all over. Gwen knew things of that nature were unlikely to stop without Arthur there. From what Merlin had told her of his time away from doing chores, his activities consisted mainly of crashing about in storerooms in search of escaped and or malicious magical creatures, and hiding in nooks and crannies.

… And an inordinate amount of time in Morgana's cupboards. She had worried about him over his strange fixation with Morgana's clothes, and still wasn't entirely sure that she shouldn't be worried about their magical magnetism now that he had explained.

Amr had a very interesting time to come growing up. Still there was no one she trusted more to care for her son when she or Aileen needed a break. Doubtless they would.

"I'm thinking," Godwyn began suddenly, "that my daughter simply wishes to spend some time with the prince." He sent a knowing smile Gwen's way, finding that she understood. "She has mentioned on at least seven occasions since our arrival this afternoon, that he is quite adorable."

Bayard gave a hearty laugh. "Women and babies. Like nip to cats."

That won similar laughs from the other kings present. Annis however, surveyed them with a serene expression. "I feel that I ought to be affronted by those words. However it is often the way of men to make assumptions on the female sex."

"You don't like children?" Gwen asked, aware that Caerleon had two princes.

Annis smiled. "I have come to realise that there are greater things. Personally I find dogs far more entertaining."

Gwen didn't know quite what to make of that, though the two enormous hounds lurking beneath the table that Merlin had been feeding all evening did belong to Annis.

It wasn't long after that the feast began to wind down. The entertainment provided by the court jester (it was Gwen's great surprise to find that she actually had one. Apparently Arthur despised him and forbade his performing anywhere near court events) went down well. Conversation flowed and was amiable, and an awful lot of wine and ale was consumed, though George found himself curiously denied any opportunity to demonstrate further his great pouring skills as his master's cup was not touched again throughout the night.

All in all by the time the feast ended, it could be said to have been a successful night. Everyone seemed pleased and happy.

Except for Merlin.

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**Note: **Some interaction from our various rulers there. I have to say that I do rather like Alined despite myself ^.^ _That_ painting. I had to mention it as I have a whole other story in mind for that. A one shot probably, but it sprang from a conversation with my other half when I read this to him and I couldn't resist. Most of my stories connect up with one another in some way, and when I finally get around to it, the tale of _that_ painting will connect up to this :P Sorry for not posting this last week as I said I would. Essay writing, theory test studying and work prevented it. I have two months to myself more or less after next Wednesday, so things should be a bit better on the update front. Thanks for bearing with me! xxx

Guest: Oh, wow. Thank you!

Aan: Thank you so much!

bandeapix: Lol. Glad you liked it!

Thank you for all the support everyone who has faved and followed and review so far! xxx

***Translations**:

Tóspringe – Spring apart. Fly asunder.

Scæne – Break/Wrench open. Shatter.

Fierdesne gàst – holy warrior or warrior ghost.


	6. Chapter VI

Chapter VI

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He was troubled all the way back to the physician's chambers. The whole walk it was evident that something was the matter. Gaius couldn't help but notice. Merlin was out of sorts. More so than he had been lately.

A quick glance at Gilli revealed that the boy suspected nothing untoward was going on, but the look on Merlin's face told him otherwise.

Once they reached his chambers, away from the prying eyes and ears of those who may use what they heard to do harm, Gaius felt himself growing more and more agitated as he waited for Gilli to retire, and for George to go wherever George went of an evening.

It was another half hour or so before Gilli went to bed, and George was finally persuaded that Merlin could put himself to bed without assistance or an audience. So it was that Gaius found himself alone with his ward.

Merlin sat at the table, his hands clasped at his mouth as he stared into the candle flame before him. He looked a million miles away.

Gaius regarded him carefully a moment before returning his attention to the liquid he brewed in a cup on the workbench. It was not long before the concoction was ready. Gaius took it with him to set it on the table before his ward, and take his own customary seat opposite.

When Merlin made no move towards the brew, Gaius nodded his head to remind him of its presence. "Drink it." He encouraged, all the while examining Merlin's expression with a knowing eye.

Merlin came out of his trance and examined the cup and its contents cautiously. "What is it?"

"An infusion of camomile and Valerian. It will help you to relax."

Still suspicious, Merlin picked it up and took a tentative sip. "Ugh. It's disgusting!"

"Make sure you drink it all up. You look as though you need to calm down."

He watched like a hawk to ensure that most of the potion was gone before addressing the issue at hand. "Now. What is on your mind?"

Uncomfortable, Merlin shifted on the bench. Of course Gaius knew. Gaius always knew when something was troubling him. What to say first?

"Is it that man?" Gaius probed. "Tiarnan? I saw the way you looked to me when Odin introduced him."

Merlin hesitated. Yes, Gaius was correct. There was something unsettling about Tiarnan, but exactly what it was, he could not say. "I've never heard of the Fierdesne gàst before."

"I imagine few have." Gaius shook his head. "The druids encompass many tribes in many places. Their beliefs are wide and varied."

"I thought that the druids were peaceful?"

"Those in and around Camelot are. Who is to say that those from further afield share the exact same beliefs? Differing environments and states of unrest produce differing results." Gaius paused a moment in thought, before continuing on. "I am not best versed when it comes to druid lore – much of the recorded history and books pertaining to the different tribes were destroyed during the purge. Like all things magic, Uther wanted all record of the druids erased, as well as the people themselves – there were however, once records of tribes of warrior druids. Stories still circulate about those who chose to become warriors, but the names of such tribes have been lost to the ages."

"Because of the purge."

Gaius did not say anything further to that effect, but bobbed his head lightly. "It is indeed possible that some from those tribes still live, and their customs carry on. You could try consulting Iseldir. He would know more about druid history and lore than I."

That was true. Merlin simply nodded. He felt like pacing, but the long days and short nights were catching up to him. Even standing seemed like an ordeal now that he was sitting down. It would have to wait until morning. Right now he was worn out.

"... That is not all, is it?"

Again, Gaius knew him far too well. Even as he rubbed his hands over his face and searched for the words to explain, Gaius knew what was on his mind.

"Something you saw in the courtyard?"

Merlin hesitated, and gave him an enquiring look that raised a slight smile on his mentor's face.

"I do pay attention, Merlin. While we were out there, something was clearly troubling you."

Indeed there was, and it had continued to trouble him. How to put it into words, though? It was such an... elemental feeling. "It's..." Could he even describe it? "I felt something. Lady Branwen wore a necklace, but... it's not just a necklace. It's something else. Something..." He shook his head and rubbed again at his face, frowning down at the Valerian sludge in his cup. "There's power in it. Very old, and very strong. When I saw it, something inside me reacted to it. I felt -" how had he felt? "-I felt as though I was being pulled in opposite directions. Like there was a pressure on my chest. It's almost as though part of me recognised it, while the rest of me was completely blind to it. I have no idea what it was, but..." he trailed off. This next realisation was strange, very strange, but Gaius had to know. If he was to give any insight into what they were dealing with, then he needed all the information Merlin could give. "It felt like I was being watched. Like something was keeping an eye on me. Biding its time. Waiting for... something. I don't know what."

Gaius was silent. He sat there, looking back at Merlin impassively, considering him carefully. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, searching, "A necklace you say?"

Merlin nodded.

For want of something to do, Gaius reached out and shifted the candle to the side of the table. "Can you describe it?"

"It's nothing special to look at. Just cord and wood. No jewels or anything you would expect. Just a small square of wood with a red dragon painted on it."

"A red dragon?"

"Yeah."

Gaius frowned lightly, though gave nothing further away in his expression. "Lady Talaith, Branwen's mother once had a necklace very much like the one you describe. The red dragon is her family crest. From what I recall, she wore it always."

Merlin shook his head. "It's more than a necklace, Gaius. It's enchanted. I could feel it."

"Perhaps. It is well known that the Lady Talaith possessed magic."

Surprised, Merlin straightened in his seat. He fixed Gaius with a questioning look, but the physician simply turned his attention on moving the candle once again. Lady Branwen's mother had magic? Arthur's aunt? "Did Uther know?"

Gaius shifted, uncomfortable. He dropped his eyes to the small pool of wax the weeping candle had left on the table, and clasped his hands around it. "Yes." His voice was not quite steady.

Merlin hesitated to ask. "What happened?"

Gaius had long ago come to terms with what had been set in motion all those years ago. He knew well enough that one could not change the past. He too had lost much during the purge: Alice and Balinor, his friends and acquaintances throughout Camelot's magical community, so many slaughtered, not lucky enough to escape into exile and spend their remaining years being hunted like animals. The choice they had faced was not a kind one, and in many cases it was a choice that was denied them altogether, whether by fate or by man.

He paused before answering, unsure how to go about it. Merlin appreciated the direct approach, but going back through all that had happened in those first bloody years was never a pleasant experience. "After Ygraine's death, when the purge began, all known magic users in Camelot were taken into custody regardless of rank or connection. It was widely known that Talaith practiced magic. She was no exception. Uther sentenced all those taken to death by burning. Over the course of a week, they were all executed, including Talaith."

Merlin flinched a little, feeling hollow in the pit of his stomach. "And Tristan?"

Gaius sighed lightly, and resettled his hands on the tabletop. "Tristan protested of course, But Uther refused to listen or see reason. It didn't matter that Talaith was Tristan's wife, or that Tristan was Ygraine's brother. All that mattered was that Talaith practiced magic." He paused to swallow, and continued. "After her death, Tristan descended into a type of madness. He swore revenge on Uther for all that he had done in taking his wife and his sister from him. He died in single combat with the king as you know."

Merlin did know. He remembered the wraith that had once been Tristan DuBois well. It was the reason a sword that could kill the dead was needed, after all.

Hearing about the purge always left him feeling empty inside, and angry. Uther had been a hypocrite, and a tyrant. Oh how Merlin had enjoyed finally demonstrating his magic to the dead king, and it had felt good to tell him that his mission against magic had failed, that it had flourished right under his nose. Even if it _had_ nearly gotten him killed. The look on Uther's face was one that Merlin knew he would hold onto forever.

After everything Uther had done, Merlin felt justified in his gloating. The man tortured people even after death. Nimueh had only been able to bring Tristan back in any form at all was because of his hatred for Uther, and because of what had been taken from him. Vengeance was a powerful tool.

"What about Branwen?" Merlin asked suddenly, his train of thought leading back onto her. "You said that you didn't know she had survived infancy?"

Gaius shook his head. "I was unaware that she had. I was present when Tristan challenged Uther. From what he said, I assumed that she had been lost also."

The look on Merlin's face was one of a man needing explanation. Gaius obliged.

"I don't know why Tristan lied. Perhaps he believed Uther capable of anything, not least the vengeful death of an infant. Her mother had possessed magic after all, and it was Uther's policy to ensure that there were none left alive from any family who may also possess the gift. She must have been entrusted to Sir Ector's care before Tristan left Harlech. He and Tristan were very close from childhood. Ector is a good man, and would unlikely have refused the request, despite his allegiance as a knight of Camelot."

"So neither Uther or Arthur knew she was alive?"

"No one knew. Not until Guinevere contacted Ector about these talks."

"That explains why neither of them ever mentioned her." Merlin mused to himself. His thoughts turned back to the necklace, skipping back through everything Gaius had told him so far. "So do you think it's possible that she could have magic, too?"

Gaius raised both eyebrows, still staring non-committally at that patch of wax on the tabletop. "It is certainly possible. Although aside from you I have never known of anyone born with the ready ability to use magic, it is possible that she may have inherited at least the capacity for it."

So the possibility of her as a threat was still very real. From what Gaius had said, she could easily want revenge against Camelot. It was no stretch of the imagination to see it. Though he did not know for sure...

That necklace still bothered him, however.

Gaius noted the pensive expression on Merlin's face and found it cause for concern. "What is it?"

"That necklace." Merlin murmured, and felt himself shudder. He still could not work out what part of him had reacted to it. The feeling had been so ambiguous in origin. "Do you have any idea what it is?"

"Talaith never mentioned it to me. I always assumed it to be a harmless heirloom." The physician frowned, "You really believe it to be cause for concern?"

Merlin nodded. While he didn't know whether Branwen was a friend or a foe, or even if she did have magic and recognised that her necklace was more than just a piece of jewellery, the thing warranted identification. He _needed_ to know what it was.

Even now, with it out of sight just the thought of it was bringing on one of what Arthur would call his 'funny feelings'. "Better to know what we're dealing with."

Gaius agreed. It was always better to be informed. "I'll need a closer look at it."

That shouldn't be too hard. Merlin folded his arms on the table. Maybe he couldn't use the excuse of being a servant on an errand any longer, but there were still ways he could get around suspicion should he be caught. "I can do that."

"Well be careful." Gaius sent him that earnest look that always accompanied instructions concerning personal safety. "We don't know if she is a friend or an enemy. Either way you would do well not to be caught."

Merlin nodded. "I'll be careful." He had no intention of being caught. Awkward explanations were never fun, and aside from any possible highly destructive magical battles that may ensue, a male courtier found in a Lady's chambers digging through her jewellery box would not be easy to explain away. He'd done enough explaining of that situation when he was a servant and had at least _some_ leeway and reason as to why he should be in any one room at any one time.

"Good. I would hate to hear you explain yourself."

He really had been living with Gaius too long if the old physician was so on the same page as him. Whether that was because spending so much time around Gaius had affected his thought processes or vice versa, it was hard to tell.

The stern look he was getting from his mentor now, he could almost read the man's thoughts. As such, and obedient in tiredness, Merlin picked up his cup and drained the absolute dregs of the Valerian concoction.

"Ugh." He screwed up his face, trying to swallow away the after taste. "That really is vile."

"Maybe, but you'll be glad of it in a few minutes." Gaius waved him away, "now, bed. You have another long day ahead of you tomorrow."

Merlin smiled briefly, and stood from the bench. He did as Gaius told him and made for his room, yawning and stumbling as he went.

Gaius' voice followed him across the chambers "Don't trip over Gilli on your way. And, Merlin?"

The shattered warlock halted at the bottom of the stairs and looked back over his shoulder at his mentor.

Gaius returned his earlier smile, fond of the young man he had looked after for so long. Fond, and proud. "Sleep well."

Merlin gave a small smile and turned away, nearly falling up the stairs as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Somehow he won the battle with the stairs and fumbled with the door handle. He heeded Gaius' instructions and neglected to fall over Gilli's soundly sleeping form on the floor to collapse into bed.

Despite his worries, Gaius' disgusting infusion had relaxed him considerably. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

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**Note:** Sorry for the delay! I thought I'd have more time once my assignment and theory test were done. How wrong I was! Anyway, hopefully normal service to resume. Next chapter up in a few days! xxx

Greetings to new followers! Welcome on this maddening ride of mine. Thank you for the company. I'm going to need it in the dark days of furious scribbling and typing ahead. x

Justareader13: I can't remember if I replied to you or not, and I don't want to clutter up your inbox if I did D: Thank you! I wanted to go with believable. The good thing to come out of the ending is that there is a massive expanse of time in which things presumably happened. Great! :D Let's put stuff in it. WHat would have happened and how would it have happened? This is what I got. Gwen and Merlin have a lovely friendship that we didn't get to see enough of and she was an awesome queen when she was allowed to be on screen. I'm not sure how Amr would react to being called 'bonus Arwen baby'. With much gurning and petulant disbelief and disdain I imagine :P Thank you again! xxx


	7. Chapter VII

Chapter VII

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"_Merlin_."

He stirred, but did not waken.

"_Merlin_."

Again, Merlin shifted. He turned over and tucked one arm behind his head, but he still slept.

"_Merlin_."

There it was again. Through the tiredness and the fog of sleep. A voice.

"_Merlin_."

A voice he knew well.

His eyelids fluttered. Merlin woke slowly, surprise playing at the edges of his still groggy mind.

The voice did not come again.

For a moment, Merlin lay still, staring at the darkened ceiling of his room. Down beside his bed he could hear Gilli breathing softly, still sound asleep. The voice had definitely not been his. It had sounded like Kilgarrah, but that wasn't possible, was it?

An uneasy feeling nagged at the back of his mind. An odd sense of familiarity normally associated with the Great Dragon. The more he thought, and consciously focused on it, the clearer it became.

"..._Merlin_."

He blinked. That was not imagined.

Swiftly, in one movement he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, careful not to step on or wake Gilli. Merlin made his way out of his room, down the stairs and out of Gaius' chambers, a strange sense of excitement brewing in him. He stopped only to pick up his boots from beside the chamber door.

It had been a long time since he had last made his way through these woods at night. Running beneath the moon, in the starlight, it felt almost as though time had been turned back.

His heart pounded in his chest, apprehension and worry doing battle with the adrenaline of running so fast.

Dapples of moonlight almost dazzled him as they flashed in his vision through the canopy overhead. The same woods; the same perpetual leaf mould; the same log he would always trip over near the edge of the well-worn path despite knowing where it was. His feet knocked loudly against it, almost sending him sprawling forward onto his front. He kept what little balance he usually had, and continued onward.

He knew it all so well, and making this trip again after so long he found himself wondering if he was actually imagining it and that the path would go on and on forever and leave him wondering if he was going mad.

And then, he burst out of the trees into the bright moonlight of the clearing.

He halted dead, expecting to find it deserted, to be alone out here in the middle of the night after a particularly vivid dream. But no.

In the centre of the clearing, large as life, was Kilgarrah. He felt himself smiling. Merlin knew that he was. The sight of his old friend there was incredible – something he had never imagined that he would see again. It filled him with joy, but... his smile fell away.

Kilgarrah did not stand there as he once did. He lay down. His wings were not folded at his back, but spread to his sides, weak and limp, and his head was not held high, but drooping a little on his elegant neck. He lay there, upright, but with his golden eyes closed.

Merlin frowned. Sadness welled up inside him. He took steps towards the silent dragon.

As the warlock neared, Kilgarrah's eyelids fluttered. He lifted his head, blinking back to full wakefulness. Seeing Merlin there in front of him, he appeared suddenly happier, and almost smiled as he spoke.

"Ah. Young warlock. I did not think you were coming."

Merlin halted a few feet from Kilgarrah's chest, and looked up. Silent, he raised his hand towards the Great Dragon.

Kilgarrah lowered his head and touched his snout to Merlin's open palm.

Feeling tears welling up, Merlin blinked, and swallowed. "Of course I came. You called me."

"And yet for so long it was I who would come when you called me."

Kilgarrah raised his head, Merlin lowered his hand. They stayed in silence for some time, Kilgarrah looking down at Merlin, Merlin looking at the ground at his feet, his arms folded around himself as though cold. Dragon and Dragonlord, in each other's company.

At last, Merlin spoke.

"I thought..." he trailed off, aware how thick his voice sounded with unshed tears. "I had thought that you died."

"I am not long for this world." Kilgarrah answered evenly. "The end comes to us all in its own time. For me, it has been slower in its approach than even I anticipated."

Merlin looked up at him. "What?"

"I _am_ dying, Merlin. I have been for some time now. It will not be long before my time arrives. That is why I have called you here tonight."

Merlin drew a small breath. "You called me, because you are about to die?"

Kilgarrah chuckled. "Do not look so surprised. You are the last of the dragonlords. Is it so strange that I should want to be with kin when I die?"

"No. Not at all. I'm..." He hesitated. "I'm glad you came back."

"I have travelled many leagues and many days to be here."

"You didn't fly?" Merlin knitted his brows, saddened further by the dragon's answer.

"I cannot." Kilgarrah shifted one wing feebly, the bulk of it hanging useless at his side. "My body is failing. Age has finally caught up with me."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry, young warlock. I have lived a long and full life. I am at peace with my fate."

Merlin shifted, unsure what to say. He had seen death so many times, but could not think of the right words to give Kilgarrah. This was different. There was no desperate comfort to give the frightened and wounded, no promises that he would find a way to stop it. There was nothing he could do, and he did not know how to handle that. "I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing."

That did not feel right. "I need to say something."

"Then take your time. I shall not die tonight."

Kilgarrah understood the questioning look on Merlin's face well enough, and gave an amused chuckle. "I have held on long enough to return to you, Merlin. I will hold on a little longer and witness the fulfilment of your destiny."

Merlin understood. "Albion."

Kilgarrah inclined his head. "Albion. I have long dreamt of the dawn of a new age. I will live to see it, and you in your destined place beside the throne on that new day."

This was it? When dawn finally broke over Albion for the first time, Kilgarrah's life would end? How was that fair?

"Go now, young warlock." The dragon told him. "Back to your bed. You know I am here, now."

Merlin looked up at him, his arms folded around himself still. "Where will you go, until the treaty is signed?"

"I will remain here. I fear no hunter or knight."

No. Merlin supposed he didn't. Shivering, he turned to leave, but paused and glanced back up over his shoulder. "I'll be back once the treaty is signed."

Kilgarrah gave him a cryptic, knowing smile. "You will be back before then, Merlin."

A familiar stirring of frustrated annoyance almost made him ask why, but Merlin forewent it, and said nothing. He walked away, back towards the trees and the town beyond, mixed feelings swirling inside him. But overall, he felt sadness, and a deep, lonely ache.

* * *

The courtyard was a bustle with activity. Gwen leant out of her window, watching the comings and goings with interest. Dawn had not long broken, but already everyone was working to prepare the citadel and arena for the opening of the tournament.

She was glad to see so many people working hard on it. The previous evening's feast had been a success. Everyone had left in good spirits, and she had felt pleased with the way it went. Now if only the tournament would go so smoothly, everything would be fine by the time everyone gathered at the round table the final time for the signing.

She was broken from her thoughts by Luned's voice at the wardrobe.

"Which gown today, my Lady?"

Gwen shifted on the window seat, letting one leg hang down that her toes brushed the floor. "The mauve today." She frowned at herself a moment, aware that she had chosen strictly for comfort and not regality. "What do you think, Luned?"

The maid started, surprised to have been asked, and hesitantly surveyed the fine gowns hanging in the wardrobe carefully. "The red, my Lady."

"You really think so?"

Luned nodded. "You always look most like a queen in the red."

Gwen smiled at that, and turned her head to gaze out of the window once more. Three days of the tournament. Three evenings of talks between the heads of each Kingdom. Was she truly prepared for this?

A small shiver ran through her. Guinevere closed her eyes, and swallowed against what she knew to be uncertainty. When would she stop doubting herself?

"My Lady?"

Luned had laid her gown out ready and now waited beside the dresser to brush her hair and braid it up.

Gwen rose from the window seat and made her way across the chamber to sit at the dresser.

It had been so much simpler, back when she was a serving girl performing the same tasks for Morgana that Luned did for her now. It all seemed so much simpler now, when she looked back on those days – the days when she was one of those out on the courtyard, making preparation for the upcoming events. It had not been easier, but it had been simpler to be a servant. No future rested on her shoulders greater than Morgana's arriving on time for a meal. Never had she thought that it would be on her shoulders to negotiate treaties with other Kingdoms, or talk Camelot's way out of wars.

She knew how to do those things, she realised. After three years of watching Arthur, she knew the correct way to go about it. Though he had never said so, Arthur had been training her. Every council meeting, every knighting ceremony and every discussion with his counterparts from other Kingdoms. All that she had attended with him had been to train her in her duties as queen. If anything were to happen to him, Arthur wanted to know that she would be prepared to bear the burdens of rulership alone. Now that she bore those burdens, she vowed that she would do her best. Just as she had always done.

"Have you chosen your champion, my Lady?" Luned asked suddenly, separating Guinevere's newly brushed hair ready for plaiting. There was a slight quiver of excitement to her voice that she tried to hide beneath her conversational manner. It made Gwen smile.

Each Kingdom was to back a man as their champion in the tournament. She had already chosen Camelot's in this new breed of competition – one who would wear her colours on his arm and carry the cheers of the crowd. "I have."

From her reflection in the mirror, it was clear that Luned was burning with curiousity. It came as no surprise when she ventured in a timid voice, "May I ask who?"

"You certainly may." Gwen's smile twitched a little as she tried to hide her amusement. Luned may withdraw into herself if she knew that her questioning was amusing to the queen. That was the last thing Gwen wanted. Luned had come a long way from the shy and retiring girl who would barely speak even to ask questions she needed to of her mistress. That she was finally able to make conversation was too encouraging to knock back with laughter. Even well-meaning laughter. Gwen remained composed as she spoke.

"It would hardly be the surprise that the other Kingdoms have up their sleeves if I were to reveal it now, would it?"

"I suppose not, my Lady."

Despite her concurrence, curiousity was still eating her up. Gwen decided to throw her a bone, even if it was a deceptive bone. She knew well enough the gossip that had been circulating the lower levels of the citadel. She may no longer be a servant, but she still knew how to get in on the rumour mill. It was general consensus that she would back a champion with magic as a gesture of goodwill towards those of the magical community new to the city. Of course, there was only one person that could be, and of course she had not announced him as a competitor because she wished people to enter the tournament. Facing him as an opponent may be discouraging to some.

If Luned could work out correctly who Gwen had chosen as her champion, then she had very much earned her exclusive knowledge. Not even the man in question knew of her choice yet.

"What I _will_ say, is that I have chosen someone based not on their strength, or skill, but on their loyalty, and steadfastness in upholding Camelot's ideals. Because no matter what, they will never give up, and they will never accept defeat. They are true, and will always have Camelot's safety at heart."

Luned nodded her head knowingly. There was only one person Guinevere could mean. She had anticipated that the queen would foremost back a competitor with magic. Though she _had_ thought that he was to be a spectator, where he could best protect the queen if danger arose.

Gwen watched carefully in the mirror as Luned twined the new braids she had made around her coronet to hold it in place, and recalled when she had used to do the same for Morgana when she was intending to wear a circlet. It all seemed such a long time ago. Another lifetime, when she was a serving girl, and Arthur a prince.

"Has Aileen received her instructions for today?"

Luned nodded lightly. "Yes, my Lady."

"She knows to take Amr to my father's house? To the old forge?"

"She has already begun to prepare."

That was good. It would be quieter for Amr in her old home. Nobody knew that she used it for escape now and again, and Merlin had ensured it remained that way with all the wards he had thrown at it since returning. If she had a quiet place that she insisted on going to _alone _(not that Merlin actually understood what _alone_ meant), then he wanted to be satisfied that she would be safe. Amr would be able to sleep peacefully there without fear of trouble while away from her.

She felt a little heartache, thinking of her baby, and her old home. She would like to spend more time with her son. While these talks went ahead, and she ruled the Kingdom with its enemies invited over her borders, she had no opportunity. That it had to be the case just now saddened her. Sir Tor and Sir Lucan would keep him safe. They didn't mind missing the tournament in favour of protecting the prince.

She turned her head to and fro, examining herself in the mirror. Luned had yet to have finished her hair, but she already looked much more queenly than when she did her own hair. Her maid was going all out today. She must have been practising.

Gwen felt quite touched. She had been wary of having a personal maidservant after the incident with Sefa, but Luned had begun to put her doubts to bed.

She was a funny girl, nervous of her position within the royal household, but very competent. She had been in service to one of the ladies of court, but her mistress had married and moved away from Camelot and had no need of her any longer. Not everyone was so attached to their servants as she and her husband were, Gwen knew. She had done her best to reassure Luned that there was nothing to be afraid of. Serving her was no different to serving anyone else. Over the past few months, Luned had started to come out of her shell. Though she still acted funny around Merlin.

That had puzzled Gwen to begin with. She had thought that maybe Luned harboured a fancy for the court sorcerer, the way she would become withdrawn and nervous whenever Merlin was around. Though she had learned that was not the case. Luned was intimidated by Merlin, and did not know how to react to him. Merlin, bless his heart, was well aware of her discomfort around him, and endeavoured to be as charming and personable as he always was. Perhaps it was working? She had heard that Luned had battered him with a pillow in a fit of frustration when he had come clucking around like a worried hen the previous day. Far from being indignant and or offended by a servant's assaulting a courtier, Gwen wholeheartedly encouraged Luned's pelting and battering of Merlin with soft furnishings. If it would help her come into herself more and lose her fear of Merlin, then it was to be encouraged.

Luned began working on her hair again, adding the finishing touches of small wax flowers she had made the evening previous. A hobby of hers, apparently.

Having a maidservant was something Gwen felt she was finally settling into. She didn't mind it. Not any more. Though it was something that may not be to everyone's taste...

* * *

Warm sunlight filtered in through the beautifully clean windows. Had there been dust motes, they would have been swirling and dancing and glowing in the beams, but they, and all of their close relations had faced execution by dust rag and bee's wax the previous day.

Merlin felt the warmth on his face and nuzzled his head against the pillow. He didn't want to wake up. Sleep was so inviting, and warming from within, and he needed more. Daytime had arrived, however, and it was demanding his attention. So, involuntarily, he stirred, and turned onto his back.

Must be a warm day outside. Would still rather sleep in, though.

He yawned and stretched, a satisfied, strangled yowling sound escaping him. His eyelids fluttered and he let in the morning light.

And the figure at the end of his bed.

Merlin flew backwards into a sitting position, his eyes wide and unfocused. There was somebody in his room! Somebody standing there at the end of his bed _watching_ him! _Watching him?!_ Not moving, just _there_. Just...

With a series of blinks, Merlin's eyesight came into focus and he felt the ability for sound reasoning take a hold of his wildly flailing mind.

He stared at the figure standing without emotion at the end of his bed and took a deep, calming breath. "George!" This was embarrassing. Sitting there in his nightshirt, pressed against the wall at the head of his bed, confused and certainly more than a little terrified. Merlin shook his head in an attempt to restore some equilibrium to himself. "Wha-" he hastily lowered his hand, aware suddenly exactly how close he had come to reflexively blasting George backwards through the door. "What are you doing?"

As always, George displayed a complete blank canvas of a face, despite how obvious he thought that question's answer to be. "Waiting to help you rise and prepare for the day, Master Merlin."

Did he have to? Merlin relaxed and breathed a sigh. If this was any other day – or set of days – George would be gone by now. One way or the other. He would have to make time in his schedule dedicated to giving George the shove.

"How long have you been there?" he couldn't help but ask. "Have you just been standing there waiting for me to wake up?"

The servant inclined his head. "As is correct."

Merlin fixed George with an unintentionally critical look. "That's just weird."

"Now-" it appeared George hadn't heard him, or did not think it necessary to agree or disagree with the assessment, "if you are prepared to rise." He produced a robe that Merlin was sure he had not owned the previous day and held it up, ready to help his master on with it.

Merlin eyed it as though it were poisonous, and shook his tousled head. "I am '_prepared to rise'_, but not like that." He kicked back his covers and stood, pausing to stretch before snatching his quilt from his bed, wrapping it hastily around his shoulders and hurrying off down the stairs into the main chambers.

George raised both eyebrows and glanced at the robe in his hands in what may or may not have been confusion.

Gaius and Gilli were both already up and about. Whether by natural means or through George's efforts, Merlin couldn't be sure. He didn't care to think too hard on it at that moment in time.

As he clomped down the stairs (quite a trick in bare feet) Gaius noticed his return to the waking world and smiled.

"Ah! Good morning, my boy."

"Not much good about it." Merlin collapsed on the bench at the breakfast table and hunched into his quilt.

Beside him, Gilli paused, spoonful of porridge halfway to his open mouth and flicked a look Gaius' way. The physician raised an eyebrow and tentatively spooned a portion of porridge from the pot into a bowl for his grumpy ward.

The reason for his foul mood became clear as George descended the stairs from Merlin's room carrying something with what was probably due diligence.

Gaius shook his head knowingly and reached for the honey. He hadn't thought that George would be well-received. He was resilient, Gaius would give him that. Resilient, and exceedingly persistent.

Alarmingly swiftly considering the speed he seemed to be walking, George arrived at the table and placed his burden in front of his master. "Your breakfast, Master Merlin."

With a flourish, he removed the cover from the platter.

Merlin stared. Gaius and Gilli did the same.

Three slices of toast, four sausages, a wedge of cheese, what looked to be a whole bunch of the reddest grapes available to mankind, half an apple (thinly sliced), and a buttered roll. All arranged beautifully. Eating it would be like defacing a wonderful piece of art.

Merlin didn't know what to make of it. Where did you even start? This was the type of breakfast that Arthur had demanded of a morning. Demanded, but never got. The thought of putting it all away himself was just... there wasn't enough of him _to_ put it away. At feasts he was probably the cheapest person to feed. He didn't even eat this much then. This as a breakfast just left him baffled.

He looked up at George, unnerved a little by the complete blank that was the man's face.

"Is this _it_?"

George matched his sarcastic remark with even obliviousness. "The rest is in your room, Master Merlin."

His eyes widened hearing that, Merlin knew. They felt so dry he feared they may shrivel up and fall out. In which case he wouldn't have to look at that enormous breakfast any more and that was nothing if not a blessing. "There's a rest of it?"

"Yes. This is but a sample." Before anyone could stop him, George began reeling off the full menu.

At the extensive list, Merlin found himself feeling a little green. "Stop. Stop. Stop!" He held up his hands pleadingly. The very idea of so much food first thing in the morning was too overwhelming for his poor stomach to handle just then.

George appeared confused, an expression beyond 'blank as is deemed proper' on his face all of a sudden. "Are you not pleased?"

Was he not pleased with a sumptuous feast all to himself? Maybe at the opposite end of the day, when he wasn't feeling a little nauseous after a late night and a lack of proper sleep. As it was...

How to say it? He ran one hand up into his hair, losing his quilt from one shoulder in the process. Having spent a week under George's tutelage, he knew how seriously the man took his work. Really, how could he not be pleased? Here was a servant trained to attend to every whim of the nobility, and so dedicated to attaining excellence in that. If there were a High Priest of all that was servile, it would be George. Any of his potential masters would be delighted with his work. Only...

If he came out and told George to go away, it could hurt the man's feelings. As grouchy as he was feeling this morning, Merlin didn't think that he had it in him to tell George to get lost after he had gone to all this trouble.

"No, no." He looked at the platter, feeling a little queasy at the sight of its offerings. "It's great. Just... after last night I don't think I could manage it. This on the other hand." He reached for the bowl of porridge Gaius had prepared for him and took a spoonful. "This is just perfect."

To his credit, George didn't look the least bit affected. In the same situation, Merlin knew that he would have stuck his fists on his hips and tiraded away like a slighted fishwife. George merely inclined his head.

"Very good, Master Merlin. Do you require anything of me while you breakfast?"

"No! no. Thank you, George."

"Then I shall make ready your clothing for the day ahead."

"Great! Thank you very much."

With a perfect bow, George spun on his heel and strode off towards Merlin's room.

Immediately he was out of earshot Merlin turned to Gaius, shrugging deeper into his quilt. "Help me."

The physician shook his head. "I'm sorry, Merlin, but there really is nothing I can do." At the defeated look on his ward's face, Gaius went on in a softer tone, "you're his master. It is up to you to sort this out."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

Gilli had been watching the exchange in fascination. He gave Merlin a curious look. "What's so bad about having a servant?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nothing. It's just not for me."

That was about right. Merlin shook his head at himself. Anybody else would love to have a servant to tend their every need. He just found it inconvenient. Only him.

His porridge finished, Gilli pushed his bowl away and stood. "I had better go and get ready for the tournament."

Merlin glanced up at him and managed a smile despite his own problems. "You need to find out when your first match is?"

Gilli nodded. "Are you both going to be watching?"

"Of course."

"I'll see what I can." Gaius said with a tremulous smile.

Gilli returned it, though much steadier. "Thanks."

"Best of luck to you."

He would do well, Merlin knew. Gilli did have gifts in magic, even if he needed help focussing it. Once his friend had taken up his equipment and left the chambers, Merlin turned his attention back on his breakfast.

"Merlin." Gaius was watching him across the table, giving him 'the eyebrow'. "You're not yourself this morning. I take it that it is something to do with your sneaking out last night?"

Merlin hung his head at the thought of his night time visit to the woods. Gaius was correct again. The old man knew it, too.

"Something you'd like to talk about?"

"Kilgarrah. He's come back to Camelot."

Gaius' surprise was clear. "I thought you told me that he was dying?"

"He is. That's why he's come back. To die near me."

"I'm sorry, my boy."

What more could really be said about it? The physician and the dragon had hardly been on good terms for many years now. Gaius felt as though he was the least qualified person to extol the creature's virtues. Instead he kept a quiet eye on Merlin as the boy burrowed into his quilt and stared at the table beneath his fingertips.

For a long time now Merlin had carried a heavy burden on his shoulders. Destiny had always weighed heavily on him, and now that the pressure of that burden may be about to lessen, it seemed that he had just gone and burdened himself with whatever he could find to replace the missing weight. Though the loss of Kilgarrah would be a heavy weight in itself.

He regarded his ward fondly a moment, noting exactly how tired Merlin really did look. With a small shake of his head, Gaius reached for the pitcher of water near the porridge pot, and poured a little into a mug. He stood and retrieved a phial from the shelves beside the stairs and placed a few drops into the water. He pushed it towards Merlin. "Here."

Merlin glanced at the mug briefly before reaching for it. "What is it?"

"St John's wort."

Without argument, Merlin nodded and took a sip. He knew that it would make him feel better.

Gaius returned to his seat across the table from him and knitted his fingers on the wood before him. He observed his surrogate son with a thoughtful eye, but did not say anything. There was something therapeutic in watching Merlin inhale porridge, because eating was too soft a term to describe the way Merlin consumed food. While Merlin had never been more than what some would describe as a 'bean pole', he really could do to put on a little weight. He looked almost as haggard now as he had when he had turned up in Gwen's window on his return to Camelot. He had been missing meals again.

About to ask if he needed anything for the day ahead, Gaius found himself cut off as George emerged and made his way down the stairs with Merlin's sheets balled up under one arm. He halted beside the table and gave one of his practiced bows.

"Once I have delivered these to the laundry room, I shall undertake the remainder of my tasks before accompanying you to the tournament opening, Master Merlin. Are there any other tasks you would like me to attend to beforehand?"

There were a couple, unfortunately there weren't any caves close enough to the citadel that weren't already utilised for something in which George could safely dwell for the rest of his days, and getting lost in the woods would likely be done so efficiently that he may never be found again. So - "No. That will be all, George."

The most effective manservant in history inclined his head and went on his way.

Once the door was closed behind him, Gaius turned to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. "_That will be all_?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Merlin demanded defensively. "_Go away_?"

Gaius did not answer. He nodded towards the stairs up to Merlin's room. "You had better go and get ready, if you don't want him to help you dress."

That was a good point. Merlin pushed his bowl away and stood, trailing away across the chamber and up to his room under cover of his quilt. He had a very long day ahead of him. One that would go all the better for not having begun by fighting George off as the over-enthusiastic manservant tried to undress him.

ͼ ~ ͽ ~ ͼ ~ ҉҈҉ ~ ͽ~ ͼ ~ ͽ

* * *

**Note: **Happy new year! xxx


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